Standing At Ground Zero
by GreenFrisbee1
Summary: "No one's coming for you, Katsuki." And that, he thinks in between his attempts to breathe, is the greatest truth of all. So he does everything himself, regardless of how many pieces fall off in the process. (Vigilante!Bakugo)
1. Beginnings

**This is a experiment, tell me what you guys think. If y'all like it, I'll keep updating it. It's fairly experimental.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The sound was driving Katsuki insane.

Figures that if they went through all of this trouble to get him, they could at least stuffed him in a decent fucking cell.

Drip. Drip Drip.

Or maybe not. Maybe this was Shigaraki's way of fucking with him. The bastard was probably right outside this room, waiting for him to crack. Katsuki refused him to give him that satisfaction.

He refused to break.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Of course, they were expecting that.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Fuck you." He chokes out through the blood and spit on his lips. Katsuki strains against the ropes tying him down. With what felt like the last breath he had, he spits at her. "_Fuck you, you stupid bitch. Fuck you fuck you fuck you-"_

The blonde bitch -Toga- merely hums and twirls her knife deftly. It's different from the previous ones she used on him -it's tip curved upwards into a sharp, needle-like point. It's still clean.

"That's not very nice, Katsuki." She pauses, tilting her head to the side like a bird, assessing him. He knows that expression. She's looking for new spots on his body, a new place to dig in and unveil him. "Bad boy, you need to learn some manners."

She ultimately rests her knife against his inner thigh, tip digging through the fabric of his blood soaked pants.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

Then it starts all over again.

**.**

**.**

**.**

They keep him in a windowless room. Four walls, a ceiling and a floor made of stone. Distantly, he thinks it's asphalt, but on the occasions there is some light in this fucking shithole he's too busy trying -failing- to not scream in agony he's not exactly in the mood to contemplate it.

When they're not working on him, as Shigaraki puts it, they keep him bound, gagged and blind. He can barely fucking blink, strapped down like a pig on either a wall, a chair or a table. It all depends on what mood his captors are, really.

One thing that always stays the same is the metal box around his hands -chains that left no doubt as from where they were inspired from.

It's hysterical, he thinks at one point as Toga drags her knife down his left leg and he buckles and grunts at the now familiar pain. Hilarious, really, that the Yuuei teachers had such specialized restraints on hand at such a short notice.

They really thought ahead.

**.**

**.**

**.**

By the tenth visit, he's too tired to scream.

**.**

**.**

**.**

He loses track after the fifteenth time.

It all just blurs together into one giant mess of sensations -the metal binds digging into his skin, the darkness closing in on all sides, the sharp burn of knives gliding over his flesh, _her fucking laugh-_

**.**

**.**

**.**

Sometimes, Shigaraki visits.

Katsuki hates those moments far more than he hates Toga's little parties.

The light-haired man just acts so fucking casual about all of this.

Like Katsuki isn't covered in his own blood half the time, like he wasn't chained like a dog, strapped to the wall or a chair depending on Toga's whims.

And the way _the bastard keeps fucking touching him-_

Even thinking about it sends a shiver of something down his spine. It's a bitter mixture built up overtime -anger, helplessness and anxious fury the villains forced him to bottle with their chains and ropes and the darkness. He can't sleep, not here. Not when Toga could emerge from the dark at any given moment.

He lost track of the last time he'd fallen asleep instead of passing out.

He wants to pass out. Right now. Anything to block out the sensation of a hand gliding through his sweaty locks. Shigaraki is far from careful -more than once he feels him decay parts of his hair, making it uneven and choppy.

In those moments of self-awareness, Katsuki is grateful for the perpetual semi-darkness of his cell. At least this way, he can't see what they were doing to him.

(It doesn't stop him from _feeling _it.)

"Sensei is adamant that I hand you over to ." Shigaraki muttered into his hair, way too fucking close and if he wasn't strapped down to the point he could only blink, so exhausted _god he just wanted to curl up and die- _"But you're worth more than a Nomu, aren't you, Bakugo?"

He feels the man shift against him, leaning away.

Katsuki refuses to embrace that feeling of relief at the lack of contact with the villain. He always hated false hope; this is no different.

Moments later, he's proven right as Shigaraki seemingly leans over him, keeping him pinned to the chair. He can feel the man's breath on his face, slow and smelling of dust and blood.

That's all he can smell.

"Look at me."

_No-_

His eyelids flutter open. What a pathetic, traitorous body he had, answering his captor's command like a whipped dog.

(Unlike Katsuki, it understood the first few times what that edging the man responsible for his kidnapping on brought.)

"There you are." Shigaraki taps the tip of his nose like one would to a child.

There's a smile on his chapped lips -a ugly, pensive smile that makes Katsuki's blood curdle with something unpleasant. It's content too, in line with his friendly behavior that made Katsuki want to scream because they are not friends, fuck no, if -when, fucking _when_\- he escapes _he was going to kill him_

He growls, low and wet through the blood in his mouth. It's less of a snarl and more of a choked sound -what a rabid animal makes when it's caught in a bear trap and fighting with the last of its strength.

"So much bite." The villain mutters in a self-satisfied way that makes Katsuki want to rip his own hair out. "You're going to make a wonderful addition to my vanguard."

**.**

**.**

**.**

It's during one of his sessions with Toga that he snarls out the words that spell his unravelling.

"They'll come for me."

Silence. Then Toga has the balls to sigh.

It's not a tired sigh, nor exasperated -it's softer, crueler in that way, the sound a mother would make upon having to repeat something to her child. It's ugly to Katsuki's ears, grating his skin in a way that hurt far more than the cuts and burns littering his body.

But then she smiles, and if he didn't like her sigh before, this was even worse. Because this expression -it's _predatory_.

"How long do you think you've been here, with us?" She leans closer, sprawling herself like a feline against his shoulder and resting a cheek against the top of his head. Bound and tired, Katsuki can't push her away. He's a limp toy under her hands, pliant and almost broken. His wrists ache from struggling against the metal box around his hands, keeping him from blowing up his tormentor. "With me?"

Katsuki doesn't respond. He has no idea why he's not at least trying to push her off.

(Liar.)

How long had it been? Days? Weeks?

Years?

He lets that word hang in his head. It's cold and frigid and spreading through his mind like a parasite -and then it's becomes too warm and wet, wrapping around him, suffocating. No. It can't be. _I keep track, there's no way it's been-_

But maybe it was, a tiny traitorous voice murmurs in his ears.

And it was right. He was a liar. He had lost track; had drifted away in between the pain and the dark and the chains until his world narrowed to those three things.

Sensing his weakness, the blonde bitch keeps on.

"Why do you think you're not home yet?" She says sweetly and she runs her hand over his chest, collecting the fruits of her work. Her fingers are caked in red. "Why do you think All Might hasn't saved you yet?"

Katsuki has several retorts to her words. _Because he's a fucking human being, _he wants to say. _He's not all knowing. But he's searching._ Yuuei -no, the pro-heroes, they couldn't just call off the search and let him rot away in a dark cell. They were looking for him. Had to.

That's what the logical part of his mind told Katsuki. What he would say if he still knew which way was up.

Because what he felt was much different. Because All Might should have found him by now. He had to be looking for him, had to be involved with the investigation. He was his teacher, the Number One Hero. He had to be looking for stupid, pathetic, weak Katsuki-

But the fact that he hadn't been found, not yet…

(The thought sits like bad food in his stomach. Rotten and poisonous, spreading to every limb in his body.)

And like the ugly witch she was, Toga picked up on this too.

"You're realizing it, right?"

With what little wiggle room he has left, Katsuki tilts his head away from her. The villain chuckles.

"Oh, Katsukii~" She whispers into his ear, soft and cooing and _burning_, more so than the cuts she'd made on his body. "... no one cares about you."

**.**

**.**

**.**

Later, when he's alone and broken and tired, curled up in a puddle of his own sweat, blood and tears, trapped in a small cell with walls that seemed to be closing in, he can't help but think about what his tormentor told him. He wishes, he _wishes _he could do anything else, but there was nothing to hold on to but her twisted words.

Because the longer he sat here in the dark, the more he couldn't deny the truth she'd carved into his flesh.

No one was coming for him.

_No one cared about him._

* * *

**Well, that was depressing. **

**It gets better I swear.**


	2. Worn Down

The first time Toga brings an addition to their little sessions, Katsuki tries to look away.

She must have a eye at the back of her fucking head because each time he goes against orders and refuses to watch her tear apart another human being -civilian clothes, young, just a fucking teenager _fucking why- _she walks over and works on him until he _has _to give up.

The fact she can get him to do what she wants tastes like vomit on his tongue.

(Or maybe that was vomit. They did feed him in random intervals.)

Toga was unbothered by how much he ended up throwing up, or how he screamed and trashed in his binds, his yells turning into borderline humane shrieks that matched the screams of her victims. Like he was the one being torn apart with the deliberate intent of dragging things out.

Because he could squeeze his eyes shut however hard he wanted, there was no blocking out the _sounds_.

_I'm sorry,_ Katsuki thinks the second time, Toga merely stripping away her victim's skin while telling him why she was using a short, wide knife _and look, you need to slide it this way, isn't it fascinating, Katsuki?_

_I'm so fucking sorry._

The prisoners never had the time to talk to him, but he could hear the accusation in their cries and he sees the way they look at him while Toga goes to fetch a different weapon. They knew it was his fault they were here. That it was Katsuki's fault that they would never go home and see their loved ones again.

Because he was stupid, helpless, hopeless Katsuki who couldn't even save someone right in front of him, much less himself.

Maybe that's why he hadn't been found yet.

Maybe that's why they weren't looking for him. Maybe it was because they thought he had joined the villains already and the heroes were just waiting for his big debut. For him to turn his Explosion Quirk on the very same people he'd sworn he'll protect as a young child.

The first time this strand of thought strayed into his mind, Katsuki retched.

Then happens again and again.

Eventually, he stops throwing up.

**.**

**.**

**.**

By the time he stops getting sick, they're not just satisfied with him being used to the violence.

They want him to watch.

They want him to _learn_.

When their intentions became clear to him, Katsuki felt fury. How _dare _they think he would bend the knee to Shigaraki. How dare they think that he would stray from the path he had been on since his early childhood, when he understood for the first time what the word hero meant.

How did they dare think he was this spineless?

He'd lasted this long in their clutches, hadn't he?

(How long that was, he didn't know.)

He knows their plan. Or at least, their goal. Shigaraki wants him to learn, wants to shape him up into a villain, another pawn. A member of the League's Vanguard Squad, willingly or not.

But they're smart. They don't go all in, promising riches and glory like Katsuki expected. What they're doing now is starting small, and working their way up from there. They're ringmasters in a circus, whipping their chains at him, testing what boundaries they could push, what could give. Trying to figure out what he was willing to do and what he was not.

Discovering what buttons to push to get the lion to perform tricks for the audience.

Over the struggling cries of her victims, Toga cheerfully tells what kind of knife she's using -where to best use it and why. Katsuki silently fumes in between the bouts of helpless rage and the ever fading nausea.

If he looks away, he's punished.

If he looks away, he can stay sane.

If he looks away, Toga will drag it out for hours.

If he _looks_, the people Toga brings would die quicker. They wouldn't have to choke on their own blood and wait as the blond bitch got him to heel again like one would a rowdy dog. It was the smallest of mercies, but it was the only thing Katsuki had control over.

And he just wants this to be over.

(No one was coming for him, though.)

So, he looks.

He learns.

**.**

**.**

**.**

The first time they let him loose, he lunges straight for Toga.

She's just standing there mere feet away, arms wide, smile dazzling and hungry, the beginning of a laugh bubbling out of her lips like she's enjoying this and it drives Katsuki wild, makes him snap his teeth and roar like a rabid beast as he rushes towards the other blonde-

Then darkness swallows him up.

Kurogiri.

_Of fucking course._

Katsuki's not a quitter though. He fights back. Cursing and screaming, _he fights back._

He falls into portals again and again, darkness enveloping his senses and scrambling his brains just as well as Toga's mind tricks. His hands unused to exercise after being constricted for so long let out the most pathetic puffs of smoke and fire and the ball in Katsuki's stomach rises up, twisting his insides because how long had it been for him to end up in such a condition?

He tries to get evade Kurogiri; to avoid the vast void the man spread across the room, sending him back to his corner of the cell every time he lunged for his captors. Katsuki tries, his terrified, wild mind pushing through his limit again and again even as his body screams for mercy.

Inevitably, he eventually collapses, exhausted and panting like a dog dying from heatstroke, head swimming. His eyes are open, but he can't focus on anything but the painful dry rasp that comes with each breath he takes.

Consciousness trickles back to him when he feels a hand on his head, caressing the dirty blonde locks.

Small, thin. Not Shigaraki then. Toga.

His empty stomach gives a painful lurch.

"Had enough, sweetheart?"

He hisses at her, wordless and angry.

Toga merely giggles, picks him up and drags him over to his bindings. He's limp in her grasp, mind swimming through tar.

The click of the box snapping shut around his twitching, aching hands sounds like a thunder strike in his ears. A bolt of lightning, brilliant and burning, striking through the haze and reaching his core. He's not getting out of here. He failed. Again.

Toga clicks the final lock in place and steps in front of her. Katsuki's glare is weak and halfhearted, sleep tugging at the corner of his mind, demanding attention. He refuses to give in -not while she's still here.

"It's okay, Katsuki~" She tells him like one would to a terrified child, her gentle voice betrayed by her too wide eyes and shrunken pupils.

Then there's a pair of lips on his forehead. They feel cold against his overheated skin.

"We'll try again tomorrow good?"

They leave him hanging there, weak and exhausted, ready to be prodded at again as the villains retreat to find a new angle to sink in, a new crack in his chassis to dig into and pull.

And Katsuki doesn't know how long he has left before they find the right angle.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Sometimes, in between the bouts of unconsciousness and the villains' visits, he wonders how the other students were faring.

What few names he can still remember float by.

Kaminari. Todoroki. Uraraka. Kirishima. Deku.

(Try as he might, he can't recall the exact shade of red of Kirishima's hair anymore.)

None of them had been captured alongside him -Katsuki would have known, seeing Shigaraki's habit of blabbering to him. The pale-haired criminal would take the opportunity to rub salt in the wound. The man's careful enough to not say anything about what is going on outside in the real world, but Katsuki knew him well enough by now to know the villain would be more than happy to tell him one of the other students was caught.

And didn't _that _bring the nausea back.

_Deku was hurt. _He thinks, forcing himself to remember that night. His memories feel muddled and scattered, but he can still remember the dark purpling of the nerd's arms, the way blood dripped down Deku's face -and how despite his grievous wounds, he ran in like a absolute moron instead of retreating to the camp like Mandalay ordered them to, fire in his eyes. He'd nearly jumped into Kurogiri's portal alongside Katsuki.

Deep down, he feels relief that he's alone. He's glad Deku wasn't here.

The other boy was too soft. Too hopeful. Spineless. Even with that augment Quirk of his -and that was a whole other basket of _shit _Katsuki didn't even want to touch with a ten foot pole -there was no way he would have lived longer than a few hours in Shigaraki's clutches. The man already hated the green idiot, he would have no issue turning him to dust.

Besides, Deku didn't have the same potential as Katsuki had in their eyes.

He was less pliant.

Katsuki wanted to fancy himself as on the same level -but he was starting to think otherwise. It would only take them finding the right temperature for him to grow soft and malleable in their hands.

(Because he was losing the war, ultimately. No matter how much he struggled and snapped and fought back, he was slowly and steadily being dragged towards an invisible finish line.)

Deku wouldn't last. Shigaraki would get fed up with him quickly enough. With all of his yapping and preaching, the green haired idiot would inevitably get killed.

He was just-

...too much of a textbook hero, to give into Shigaraki.

This realization sits prickly and ugly in his chest.

It's the truth though.

Deku wouldn't have lasted here.

But Katsuki could.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Ha.

And he mocked Deku for being idealistic.

**.**

**.**

**.**

_If he looks away, he's punished._

_If he looks away, he can stay sane._

_If he looks away, Toga will drag it out for hours._

_If he looks, __**if he does what they want-**_

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Why...are you even trying?" He spits out a glob of blood. Some dribbles down the corner of his lips. He's too used to being in constant discomfort by now to be even bothered by it. "I'm not g-gonna break."

Liar.

Filthy, filthy liar.

Shigaraki drums his fingers against the table of tools. The _tap tap tap_ would have been just as maddening as the dripping of the water from the ceiling, but Katsuki over the weeks -or months or years, who knew- had grown numb to the disturbance.

He'd been floating in between a haze of _here _and _not here_ for a long time now. Some things had eventually faded into obscurity.

"Why? You're valuable." Shigaraki finally answers after a long pause. Katsuki watches from the corner of his eyes as he peers at Toga's tools with mild interest. He wasn't going to use them though -Katsuki behaved today. "You might not be the hero of this tale, but you matter. Somewhat."

He turns his head to his captive, smile all teeth and edges. His eyes almost glow in the dark, ruby red not unlike Katsuki's own demanding his attention -and just like with Toga, the blonde doesn't look away. He's learned not to.

"The childhood rival, always putting dear little Deku down."

Katsuki jolts.

What.

"How-"

"You mumble when you sleep." Shigaraki responds offhandedly as he picks one of his nails with a sharp, thin knife -the same one Toga had shown him how to use today. It was perfect for smaller, more precise cuts that reached deep. Good for dragging things out before the big show.

Katsuki had yet to do anything else than sit there in the corner and watch. _A matter of time, _Toga told him gently while patting his cheek. _Just watch and learn for now, Katsuki~!_

"We've had an eye on you for a while, too. You left quite the impression on Kurogiri back at the USJ."

They had been watching him for that long?

Katsuki's stomach makes odd twist in his gut.

Did they really think he was villain material since then?

Was he really that-

_Don't think about it, you useless shit._

He snaps back to awareness when Shigaraki steps closer to where he's sitting, bound and tied on a rickedy metal chair. Katsuki can only offer up a halfhearted sneer and bared teeth -a threat that feels emptier and emptier at times goes by- as the man leans close. Pale teal hair flutters against his nose, making him grit his teeth in discomfort.

It's nothing versus the feeling of having his captor looming over him, hands on his bound forearms. Pinky fingers lifted, just barely. Ready to come down and turn his skin into ash.

"It would be right out of a shonen manga," Shigaraki whispers into his ear. "The childhood bully who thought he was hero material, who gave everything for his dream, switching sides and going against the protagonist." The man makes a tiny, excited noise, his hot breath fanning against his skin in a way that sends the world tilting.

"Oh, it will be _glorious_."

Katsuki tries not to retch at how he says it. The inevitability, how he thought his fate was set in stone and Katsuki had to stop fighting it and bend the knee.

Then there's arms wrapping around him, hugging. Trapping him.

Katsuki twitches in his grasp, but he can't move. He feels part of his shirt decay when Shigaraki clings to him tighter, feeling more like snake constricting around him than a human being. He feels teeth brush against his ear, and freezes at the sensation. The smell of old blood and ash is overwhelming.

Blind, animal terror keeps him pinned where he lay, far more effective than the arms caging him or the binds.

"I will enjoy the look on Midoriya Izuku's face when you stand by my side."

**.**

**.**

**.**

_If he looks away, he's punished._

_If he looks away, he can stay sane._

_If he looks away, Toga will drag it out for hours._

_If he looks, __**if he does what they want-**_

**.**

**.**

**.**

The next time Toga offers, he picks up the knife.


	3. Ignite

**Was meant to update See (Too Much)**

**Updates this instead.**

**I'm not saying it's karma because See(Too Much) delayed the last Stygian Fire update, but I might be inclined to. No worries tho, I'm gonna finish it in a day or two. I just need reviewing and rewriting some parts because well, you'll see.**

**Anyhow into the scheduled Bakugo angst.**

**Izuku, you can sit in a corner and wait for your own angst fics to update.**

* * *

Toga is a hands on teacher.

She hovers around him as he works, the gold of her eyes swallowed by the darkness of her pupils. Hands on his forearms, chin on his shoulder, sharp teeth whispering secrets to him through ragged, excited breathing that rarely failed to send a shiver of cold down his spine.

A presence behind him, gently herding him towards the finish line.

With her wispy, delighted voice in his ear, he learns all the parts of the human body, down to the smallest bone. He learns about the carotid arteries, the sciatic nerve, the names of all the bones in the human body -everything Toga finds pertinent to teach him.

And there is a lot.

Humans were complicated little machines, Katsuki learns. Intricate, elegant, yet so disgusting, a package of contradiction that made his head spin more than dehydration or Toga ever did. If you know what you're doing, it's easy to take them apart. It's even easier to take what you need.

He learns how to find the kidneys with a look.

How much force he needs to apply to break fingers.

How to pluck out eyes without damaging them.

How to strip a person of their flesh.

How to drag it out until Toga got bored and made him finish the job.

Most importantly of all, he learned to reach in and from these shivering, twitching vessels of flesh and bone he rips out the truth; tells it apart from the terrified responses they cried out in a desperate attempt to get him to stop, to give them some release.

The shaking and hesitation of his hands fades in time. How long, Katsuki has no way of gauging, but those shivers eventually give away to smoother, more controlled movements. His cuts are more precise, his hold over his tools looser, more confident.

Eventually, he gets creative.

Gliding fingers charged with heat from his Quirk, marking a burning path up and down human skin as his victims writhe in their binds. Toga was especially smitten that day by his creativity. She'd leaned over their work table, smile bright and sharp like a proud lioness as she cupped his face with red-smeared hands.

"Good job, sweetheart."

And like the whipped dog he was, Katsuki preens.

**.**

**.**

**.**

It's the end of another session. He's setting the last cleaned tool on the workbench, a jagged hunting knife, when Toga tosses something at him unexpectedly. It bounces off his head -surprise at her sudden movement made him freeze like a deer in the headlights- but he manages to catch it before it hits the ground.

Confused, he stares down at the strange object in his grasp; it's not sharp at all, not even heavy. Nothing that really hurt to get struck by, so why would she throw this at him?

Then he realizes what it is. The cylindrical shape.

The coldness of it.

It's a bottle.

It's a stupid fucking plastic _bottle_.

How come he didn't he recognize it right away?

Katsuki takes in the sight of this object so utterly alien, spinning it in his hands slowly -brisk movements always earned him a punishment- feeling the cold seep into his skin. It eases some of the heat that came from working and being in a non air conditioned room for so long.

The sensation of relief from his heated skin having contact with the cool water grates at him.

It's nice.

It's comforting.

It's not-

Maybe it was a test?

He turns to his captor. Unknowing or likely, uncaring of his troubled thoughts, Toga hums appreciatively and spins on her heels, grabbing the table with the latest body and wheeling it out for Kurogiri to pick up later.

It takes him a good minute of hesitation in the semi-dark before he opens the bottle and drinks. It's the most he'd had in...in forever, and he can't help but give into the desperation haunting his weary body. He gulps it down quickly, eyes never straying from the door.

Anytime now, Shigaraki and Toga would barge into the room and punish him for failing the test. Clutching the half empty bottle, he ambles onto the farthest corner of the room and curls up in the corner, clutching the water to his chest and standing guard -that is until exhaustion and stress put him under.

(They never come.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

It becomes a system.

He does his work, he gets a bottle to drink.

Sometimes, it's food. A sandwich, most commonly.

(It had taken him ten minutes of _staring_ before he clawed his way through the bitter feeling in his chest and took it from the plate.)

It's all dependent on Toga -if she didn't feel satisfied by his performance, he gets nothing but a handful of muk he's not certain is food, but he eats anyways because that's the only thing he'd been fed during most of his stay here and fuck, it hadn't killed him yet.

Which made this even stranger.

Why would they feed him now? They'd sustained him with the gravy-like paste before, why change his diet?

There had to be a reason.

There was always a reason.

They wanted something from him, and they were slowly winning.

The thought sits restless under his skin. He can barely keeps his arms from shaking during the next session.

Didn't one of his teachers _-Aizawa his name was Aizawa dumb fuck why can't you-_ mention something like this…? It was but a faint memory, tattered and worn, but he remembered the man telling that they would be studying kidnapping and hostage situations at the start of the second year.

It had a name.

He knew it did. He was certain of it.

But try as he might, he can't remember the class they had on the subject. Toga certainly doesn't leave him enough time alone and aware for that.

(There's a lot of things, Katsuki finds, that he can't remember.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

Sometimes when Toga takes the prisoners away from him, they're still alive.

_They're special,_ she'd told him once while they worked together to excavate a still beating heart from it's owner's ribcage. This one wasn't one of them. _Sensei needs them._

Katsuki knows better than to ask.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Sometimes, he hesitates.

Sometimes, he looks down at the body he's working and catches wide eyes and desperation. Pleading.

Each time, it's like a cold bucket is dumped over his head. Like their eyes are reaching deep within this numb body and touching the tiny shrivelled light in him that was still Bakugo Katsuki, the boy who wanted to become a hero.

This time was no exception.

As pained brown eyes crossed his own burnished red, Katsuki finds his hands clammy and cold, the curved knives he was holding shaking his in sweaty grip. Quickly, he looks away from those eyes veiled with agony. Gulping down air, he sets his tools down rather harshly near the tied legs.

He didn't dare look up at the young woman strapped on the table. The sight made him sick and tingly and they'd barely started working on her, so it wasn't the blood. No, deep down he knew it wasn't.

And he hates it.

He hates feeling like this.

He hates _feeling_, period.

"Something's the matter?" Shuffling behind him alerts him of Toga's movements. She's setting down one of the tools she'd just selected to start her work on the girl's head.

She's close now. He can feel the warmth of her body pressing against his back.

It takes him a while to make his tongue work.

"This." He offers with the slightest waver. His hands twitch at his sides. "This is wrong."

Silence. He feels Toga nod against his back. Her hair brushes against the bare skin of his shoulders.

Then:

"If you think that, then why don't you stop?" Toga whispers to him. He feels her fingers drawing circles on his hips pensively.

There's no retort he can offer to that.

They both knew the answer.

Still, the feelings persevere. Like a ugly wound that feasted so. Without even looking up, he knows the captive is still staring at him. Katsuki can feel the weight of the bound girl's eyes on him.

He swallows. He can't look up.

He doesn't dare.

"It still feels…"

Toga must have noticed the staring too, because her grip on him tightens.

She leans back; Katsuki feels the older teen shifting the tools on the table with her body as she pulls him along, resting him on her lap as she sits on the worn table. He hates it. It makes him feel small and vulnerable and still like a beaten dog, he doesn't pull away from the other blonde.

He's perfectly still when she wraps her arms around his midriff, locking his own arms against his chest.

"...wrong?" She guessed in a breathy, familiar way. It's the same tone she takes when she's trying to discern which hook in her collecting was best for plucking eyes out. "You still feel that this is wrong, don't you?"

It would be easy, to lie.

But she would know. She always does. It might as well be her Quirk.

And so, he gives a tiny, barely noticeable nod.

There's a chuckle, then a hand grabs onto his chin and twists it around with more tenderness than Katsuki would have expected from her, though he knows Toga's gentleness was a double edged sword.

Red meets gold.

"You'll learn, Katsuki." She purrs, her thumb caressing under his left eye. She tilts her head, a smirk twisting her lips. "I'll teach you everything I know, sweetheart. Then you'll stop feeling like this."

She leans closer, smile shifting into something more secretive.

"...then you'll stop feeling and just _do_ whatever what you want."

Numbly, Katsuki lets her pull him into a kiss.

**.**

**.**

**.**

The day he gets through an entire session with no help from Toga, Shigaraki is there to celebrate.

Arms bloodied up with his shoulders, hair sticky and nose rendered useless by the overpowering scent of blood and urine in the room, Katsuki watched as Shigaraki placed his hands on the body and turns what little was left looking human to a paste of ash, blood and fluids.

Task done, Shigaraki turns to grin down at him, parched lips pulled so wide the thin, dry skin of his lips cracks.

It stretched his face almost inhumanely in the dim lighting of his cell, making him look like one of those bogeymen of legend.

Katsuki has to wonders if Shigaraki had ever been human to begin with.

(He wonders if maybe that's what he was starting to look like.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

One by one, the other members of the League start showing up.

He doesn't notice them as first, too busy being elbow deep in the bowels of a forty year old man. The intestines squirm around his hands like living eels, and he has to be extra careful to keep the knife he was holding from rupturing them. Fresh fecal matter stank worse than anything else the human body had to offer, he'd discovered over time.

When he does though, he watches them through narrowed eyes.

White mask.

Top hat man.

A lizard.

It's only at Toga's behest that Katsuki resumes his work. Them watching him from the corners of the cell made him feel restless. Shigaraki hovering nearby, watching on with almost pride in those sickly red eyes only aggravated things.

This, he knows what it means.

The other villains were here to watch the lion play tricks -to see the prize they'd worked so hard on obtaining finally bloom.

The villains brought only faint reaching from the memories of before. Not even enough to get their names, for the most part. Roaming, his eyes settled on the tallest of them. This time, he's the only one in the room alongside Shigaraki, himself and the captive Their eyes met; dark red with sharp aquamarine.

This one…

Katsuki knows this one.

A black coat. Scars. Blue eyes.

_Dabi._

Memories scratch at the back of his head, faint and fragmented. A forest. Screaming. Shouting.

His name.

No, something else-

_'Kacchan!'_

_Green eyes, wide and terrified as a desperate scream echoed through the clearing, broken arms dangling at their owner's sides. Something tight and warm clutching the back his neck, another around his waist, hauling him back no matter how much he fights against it._

_'Don't come, Deku!'_

_Then darkness._

Katsuki shudders at the sudden burst of something that wells up in him at the -memory?

It hurt.

(He didn't want to remember. It hurts to remember.)

The sound that leaves his lips is a mixture of a snarl and a choked cry. A half baked threat, but one nevertheless.

Dabi pauses, his smirk faltering when he realized the blonde has stopped working just to growl at him. Katsuki watches him through narrowed eyes as he turns his scarred face towards Shigaraki, questioning.

Shigaraki only tilts his head and tuts softly.

"That wasn't very nice, Katsuki." He drawls in a way that doesn't fail to send shivers crawling up his spine. He knows that tone. "Dabi will be your superior when you join the vanguard. Apologize for your rude behaviour."

No words leave his lips. Katsuki darts his eyes between the two, hating the restless feeling in his gut.

Fear.

"Katsuki."

A full body throb leaves him but still. He can't force a sound through his lips.

Dabi snorts. "Looks like you still got some work to do, Stitches." The look of laid back smugness he gives Shigaraki makes his spine crawl -especially given the fact that the teal-haired man stays painfully quiet.

Seeing as he wasn't going to get his apology. Dabi shrugs nonchalantly and walks off to the door. He pauses right in front of it, tilting his head back to look at them both.

"Call me when you got him in working order." The scarred man says, blue eyes blazing with mirth. Still, Shigaraki is silent. "Then we can get started."

Katsuki watches quietly as he opens the cell door -light too white too bright , it dug into his eyes- and left just as quickly as he'd arrived.

As soon as Dabi is out of sight, Shigaraki is up his face, hissing like a rattled snake. He all but looms over him. The too wide, crazed stare he offers Katsuki nearly makes him shudder. He fight through it and instead stands, shoulders hunching as he feels the other man's putrid breath on his skin.

"You're improving, but you don't seem to understand when to _heel_."

The hand on his shoulder leaves as fast as it arrives, brushing over his skin only to be swiftly followed by a familiar pain of exposed nerves that sends Katsuki's knees wobbling.

Shigaraki doesn't call Toga to punish him this time, like he usually would when Katsuki refuses to take an order. Rather, Katsuki feels himself being dragged back into his chair. It seemed like the League's leader was going to do things himself.

Katsuki knows his hands are free. At any time he could try to blast Shigaraki away. Katsuki knows that. He even has some of his tools still on the nearby table, well within reach. He knows this too.

And yet, he closes his eyes and tilts his head away.

Bracing himself.

When Shigaraki shrieks in fury and his hands come down again, Katsuki stoically waits through it.

**.**

**.**

**.**

He feels less and less, each time it happens.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Why him?"

"Hmm?"

"Deku."

Shigaraki's hands twitch dangerously at his side. Nevertheless, Katsuki pursues it. He's already too damaged for the older man to think about going through another of his sessions.

"Why the hate boner for him?" Katsuki presses, voice soft and cold.

Shigaraki's laugh is humourless. "Oh. He didn't tell you?" He growls, then a smirk stretched his lips once more. "What am I saying, of course not. Why would he confide in you of all people?"

This time, it's Katsuki who flinches.

It's a automatic reaction, one he can't stop.

But Shigaraki was right. Izuku had likely already told Todoroki about his secret. Maybe the brunette girl, Uraraka. Not Katsuki.

Never Katsuki.

He doesn't matter.

Why would he? He was the childhood bully, the idiot who dug his heels in and refused to move forward, to set aside his hatred. He was barbed wire and a sharp tongue and meaningless, cruel words, a package as unattractive to be around as the people Toga brought in looked after he was done with them. A old memory Deku would forget once he graduates, once he steps onto the light to take his place in society.

He'd said so himself in middle school. Though the memory was old and faded, chipped away by Toga's knife and Shigaraki's touch, Katsuki remembered what he told Deku.

_Most heroes had stories of their school days._

Maybe this would be Deku's story. The childhood bully he'd overcome on his path to becoming the Number One Hero. The stupid, childish, useless hateful boy who burned too many bridges and tries to tear him down into the darkness, keep his face smashed into the dirt while he greedily reached for a future that wasn't his to take.

(Ha. How ironic. Who was drowning in the dark now?)

"You can tell me." Katsuki speaks up.

It tastes dead on his tongue. Not right. As if while Shigaraki knew of the answer, it wasn't his to share to the blonde.

But he's too tired to care about what was right and wrong.

"Right." Shigaraki taps his lower lip thoughtfully. His other hand is still in Katsuki's sweat covered hair, petting it like one would a lap dog.

"Well, it started a long time ago, with two brothers…"

**.**

**.**

**.**

It made sense, didn't it?

So much fucking sense.

What irony.

Of course fucking _Deku_ would be chosen by All Might as his successor. It makes his head spin from how easily it all clicks together, parts of a mystery he knows is there and he knows he'd been investigating before soothing together to form a perfect puzzle.

By taking on One for All, Deku had more or less cemented his future as the Number One Hero. He might as well have been destined for it, or some bullshit.

It's ironic really, how the universe keeps spitting in Katsuki's eyes.

He barely has enough energy to chuckle bitterly at this.

**.**

**.**

**.**

_Just pray that things will be better in your next life, Kacchan._

**.**

**.**

**.**

It's quiet.

He thinks it's the middle of the night, but he's not sure due to the lack of windows or a clock in the room.

His gaze fixates on the ceiling over his head, roving over the dark spots of grease, the grey and white splatter of bleach all over the floor, the cracks in the old asphalt.

They didn't muzzle or restrain him this time. It wasn't the first, not would it be the last according to Shigaraki. All according to your behavior, he'd chirrup end while patting his hair. It had been sickeningly proud.

He hates it.

He hates even more the way his body just accepted the praise. Because while he knows he is subs consciously just trying to stay alive, he knows that there is more to it.

They're training him, he's certain of that. And either he died here or by the time Toga and Shigaraki were satisfied with him, he would be something that couldn't even be classified as human.

But there was no way out, was there?

And it's not like Toga and Shigaraki would just let him get away. They'll chase him down till the end of the world, he is sure of that. They would do it just to set an example.

In the semi darkness, Katsuki watches as sweat dripped down his arms, droplets of caramel-scented nitroglycerin dribbling onto the floor. It's more than before, nowadays. The steady stream of water had done worded so in helping him stay healthy. Or at least, healthier.

All at once, the reality slaps him in the face.

He doesn't want to die.

He doesn't want to die here.

Most of all, he doesn't want to-

_'...then you'll stop feeling and just do whatever what you want.'_

A too warm yet at the same too cold sensation fills his gut at the memory. Rage, hapless and furious, desperate for release. His fingers twitch in front of him. There's faint pops coming from his palms when he unconsciously activates a minimum amount of nitroglycerin.

Testing, he flexes his hands.

The plan that forms in his head is hysterically stupid.

..but really, what was the alternative?

Mind resolved, he close his eyes.

Counts to ten.

Ignites.

* * *

**Toga, u shouldn't have taught him how to use knives n shit. He's gonna whoop your ass.**

**Also, if you don't realize what he did at the end of the chapter it will be cleared up -but I think you can guess what he's done. I put enough context clues in this last section for that. **

**Next chapter is gonna be a tiny bit smoller but packed with meaning, so fun!**

**I'm gonna go to slep now. I'm coughing and sick and it's not fun .**


	4. New Directive

**Katsuki gets his ducks in a row before the murdering starts.**

**WARNING: Implied rape/non-con. Not with katsuki -you'll see fam. There's nothing graphic or explicit, it's just implied.**

* * *

He wakes up to ringing ears and smoke.

It strays into his nostrils, marking a burning path down his sore, dry throat. There's something wet and metallic dripping down his nose and his mouth tastes like old dried wood. His joints ache from an unknown pressure; his skin feels taunt and parched, pulled to its limits.

He lays there on the ground, unmoving as his foggy brain takes in all the information his nerves have to offer. He doesn't groan or writhe at the burns, nor does he try to alleviate the stem of blood coming from his nose. It's all too familiar and easily ignorable.

Physical pain had long become background chatter for him.

It's a simple, discartable discomfort compared to the confusion clouding his mind.

Fires crowded around him, the bright orange flames and their sweltering heat seeping into Katsuki's too dry skin. The building around him creaks and groans, the sounds of the structure barely piercing through the roar of the flames. Not even lifting his head from the floor, Katsuki swerves his gaze across what can see of the cell, taking in the holes in the walls, the fires growing around his body, the broken table and finally the smoldering, red-hot remains of a metal chair and chains.

The chair lays on its side, barely recognizable not just for the damage it had sustained, but how the flames lit it up and revealed it to Katsuki in its entirety -in a way that it had never been before. Something tight and cold constricted around his throat at the sight.

Fear.

He'd done this.

This amount of damage to the cell, its-

_Shigaraki isn't going to like this, _is the first thing he thinks, only for that cold, panic-inducing thought to be shortly followed by _Toga won't be happy._

And then, lastly.

_The door is open._

This brings his chaotic, scattered thoughts to a halt.

Because it was true -to a point. The door was not quite open but rather just gone, alongside most of the wall. There was nothing more than a giant, gaping hole where it used to be. The metal skeleton of the structure still stood, if barely, twisted and red with heat. The broken walls were blackened and burnt; dust and rubble peppered the room.

The cell was barely recognizable, especially with the light the fires cast. Katsuki's not sure he remembers a time where the room was fully lit before now.

Something above him groans, diverting his attention. Katsuki slowly tilts his head up. The ceiling creaks again over his head, spiderweb cracks spreading across stone.

It wasn't going to hold for long.

Soon it would collapse, the thick stone ceiling crushing him under its bulk.

Katsuki's mind pauses as the thought. Huh. He grabs it, pondering, twisting this dark little thing in his hands. Testing the weight. Contemplated that realization as the air grew darker and darker from smoke, until his lungs itched and burned and a part of him that was faintly more aware reminded him that if he stayed here, still and unmoving, not even _bothering _to protect himself…

….it will be fast.

Oh. If he stayed still, he could avoid Toga and Shigaraki's wrath.

If he gave up, if he let-

No.

He can't give up. Could he? Something scratches at the back of his head, demanding attention. It's faint and splintered but still, inexplicably, there.

A memory.

_Thousands of eyes looking at him, expecting. The roar of a crowd was silenced in attention as he steps up a pedestal. He stands in front of the world, hands tucked in his pockets; the picturesque image of calm that never betrayed the thundering beat of his heart or the excitement burning in his veins._

'_I just want to say...I'm gonna win.'_

Katsuki exhales softly, digging his nails into the floor under him.

It's strange to remember, uncomfortable even; the difference between the burning warmth of this memory and the empty, tepid warmth that filled every inch of his battered body. He's not sure someone should be able to feel that much, even if they had been standing in front of a few thousand people.

Before, he wasn't one to give up.

He shouldn't now.

He won't die.

Guided by this quiet, centering thought, Katsuki hauls himself up, muscles screaming from the strain. His limbs protest at the exercise, his joints creaking as his naked feet plant against the ground. He feels bare, submerged in a lukewarm bath that contrasted greatly with the burning room around him.

Katsuki's feet scrape against the hard, too hot ground with each step, cutting and bruising his skin as he hobbles to the door. The pain barely registers in Katsuki's mind; it's insignificant and temporary, chatter his muddled mind instinctively push to the back. His nerves had long become numb to most wounds.

He pauses at the doorstep, staring down at the remains of the doorframe.

It takes him a few seconds to muster the strength to step into the hallway.

**.**

**.**

**.**

The smoke was growing thicker as seconds trickled on.

Katsuki tucks his shirt -what he thinks is a shirt, it's wrinkled and faded- up to his nose to protect himself from the smoke as he moves. He focuses on his feet; how each footsteps took him farther and farther away from the cell.

Static fills his mind, his mind felt scattered and stretched thin yet somehow, he knew what to do.

He doesn't have much time. Minutes, if he was lucky. As soon as Kurogiri was aware of what happened, he would come here -he would bring the League. Bring Toga and Shigaraki.

Something ugly and acidic twists in his gut.

Nausea.

It's been a while since he'd felt it.

He had to leave. Find a way out -the faster he gets away from this place, the better. Had to find a emergency exit or even a window -if he worked it open, he could use his Quirk to jump out and get to safety.

Safety.

Hm.

(The concept felt alien.)

The hallway opens up to a chamber, much less damaged than his cell from the explosion but still in a severe state of disrepair. Katsuki stops, hands twitching at his sides as he scans the room. It's sizable. There's a door -and another corridor that leads further out. Rubble sits in front of what looked like another door. He quickly removes the idea of trying to clear the debris to reach the door.

_Look for something useful, _he thinks stoically, mind numb and frayed, working on autopilot. _There's not a lot of time left, and I don't know how long I was out._

_Get what you need and leave._

Besides a table, a cupboard and a old drawer, there's nothing here -that is, except familiar shapes hanging from the walls, their smooth silver surfaces glinting under the light of the fires. Katsuki's feet move on their own, carrying him over to the wall of items.

Ruby eyes look over the rows upon rows of blades, hooks, serrated knives, branding irons, hammers -the names of the torture tools float through his mind as he looks over them. They're all perfectly clean and cared for.

He lifts a hand and takes a knife from the set. It's serrated, a hunting knife almost as long as his forearm. Katsuki balances it one hand -then flips it onto his other palm. Spins it around his palm, feeling it's weight in his hands. As he does so his eyes turn back to the wall, then slide down as something else catches his attention.

He bends down and with his free hand picks up his new discovery from the pile of similar objects left on the floor. The leather feels almost too warm in his grip.

It takes him little work to strap the harness on his shoulders and torso, muscle memory guiding him through the process as he takes tool after tool, knife after knife from the wall and locks them on the right spots on the harness.

When there's no more room, he takes a step back. The mild weight of the harness feels comforting around him -he doesn't remember quite why, but it makes him feel more centered. More present.

More awake.

He has familiar tools within reach. Something recognizable that he understands and can _control_.

Something crashes far away, making him tense. Parts of the building were starting to collapse, drawing his time short. Silently, Katsuki pulls away from the wall.

_Get what you need and leave._

Right. His attention flicks to the door next to the wall of tools, the one he noted before. Katsuki slowly reaches out to the door, keeping a hand on one of his knives as he opens it to find-

Clothes.

So many clothes.

There's a pile of clothes, left to stack in the middle of the room. It was a storage chamber, small yet bigger than his cell, with no other doors or windows. Instead, there's just clothes. Tons of clothes. Clothes of varying sizes, styles and colors.

Boots, coats, gloves, pants. Clothes that were dirty and dusty and sometimes, speckled with dried blood.

He stares, hand still on the handle.

He'd never really wondered, Katsuki realizes stoically as the seconds drag on and the smoke continues to grow thicker, where their belongings went. He'd been too focused on readying his and Toga's things to consider anything beyond what she would teach him next.

Katsuki closes his eyes.

_Get what you need and leave._

It doesn't take him long to extract a thick coat from the pile. It's a dull, dark green colour, with fur-trimmed edges and a large hood. He slips it on, twitching at the soft brush of fabric against his pale, parched skin. Katsuki's unsure if he likes the sensation. Comfort was strange. Comfort was new.

(And it would be taken away from him if he doesn't move, and soon.)

Katsuki takes a pair of big black boots with him before he goes back to the utility room with all the tools. The fire was spreading to the chamber, smoke curling above his head into thick, dark clouds.

It's due to the fire that he finally noticed a metallic gleam at the other end of the room, next to the corridor leading further away from his cell. The mysterious object is tucked under a rickety old metal table, rusted and bent, but the reflection of long orange flames on polished metal drew his attention like a moth to a light.

Quickly and effectively, Katsuki pulls the item from under the table and heaves it onto the furniture. Its a case, rectangular, almost as big as Katsuki's torso. It's not too heavy but still, not light either. There's straps on the sides, and a big one that starts from the left tip and crosses diagonally to the lower right corner.

Curious, he opens the case.

He doesn't think much, at first. Just stares, silent, at the contents of the suitcase. Surveys the items inside, his mind quickly piecing together what this new puzzle meant. What all of these parts could create when pieced together.

If he didn't feel so heavy, so off key and cold, he would have snorted.

Of _course _Shigaraki would do this.

He slowly reaches in, running thin fingers over a burnished bronze surface, tracing the triangular patterns of the metal. It gleams red-gold under the light of the fires -which reminds him where he was, and how much time he was wasting.

Katsuki feels nothing but hollowness as he closes the suitcase and slings it over his back, adjusting the dark strap over his chest and shoulder. It feels heavier than it should.

Everything feels heavy.

Maybe if…

He immediately drives his nails into the palm of his hands. The blood feels warm and slick under his fingers.

_Don't think about it._

Suitcase with him, knives at his hips, clothes on his back, Katsuki gathers what little fragments of himself were left and starts moving.

**.**

**.**

**.**

It doesn't take long for him to find a door with a dingy, unlit _exit _sign over it.

By then the rooms were dark with smoke, thick and too hot, choking him slowly. He walk quickly, bending his head low to keep the smoke inhalation to a minimum. _It only takes a few minutes, _Toga murmurs in his head.

It didn't bring him any panic, the idea that he could collapse here and die from the very destruction he'd caused. He doesn't think he wants to die -he can't give up, not now, wake up wake up and focus- but the idea that the very fire he set could take his life worries him little.

If anything, it was almost...comforting.

(Kurogiri should be here by now, bringing the League with him. The fact that he wasn't-)

His hands grip the heavily rusted handle. Distantly, Katsuki notes how the metal is tepid, near cold under his fingertips. The cold numbness is even worse than the one in his head, drawing him out, coaxing him to focus.

The gate screeches as he pushes against it, using his weight to open the evacuation door. It takes a moment to work it open.

When he does he stares out into the darkness, silent, mist coming out of his lips with every breath.

It was snowing.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Outside is cold. Dark.

Confusing.

He tucks the hood down over his face. Watches as his exhale is released as a fine, pale mist, swirling out from between his lips and dissipating into the dark night sky. The fire's long at his back, his legs carrying him farther and farther away from his former prison. Through a abandoned parking lot, into old, empty alleys.

He shoves his fingers into his pockets, a near convulsing shiver going through him as a gust of wind picks up some of the snow around him. The cold crawls in from every direction, the thin pants he has on and the too big boots do little to protect him from the cold.

Katsuki's not sure he likes this. Everything was different out here -different and familiar and somehow still new at the same time. Alien.

Katsuki inhales slowly as he ducks into a new alley -no, a _street _, complete with people walking around, hurrying along with hunched shoulders and lowered heads. The sight of other people momentarily stuns Katsuki, pinning him in place.

There's not a lot of civilians walking around, but just seeing unfamiliar faces that weren't twisted in pain or bearing eyes filled with terror -it left him staring, head tilting as a particularly large family of people walked past him in hurried steps. There's even children here, tucked between their parents for extra safety.

It's quiet. More so than he expected. Like they were all just minding their business and refusing to take note of those around him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Katsuki takes a moment to center himself. It's just people. Humans. Just another factor he had to take in. He could deal with this.

He had to.

(The knives tucked under the coat felt even heavier than before. Katsuki takes that weight, that extra layer of safety and uses it to maintain his heart rate.)

The air out here was cold and raw, breaching his lips and slipping down into his lungs like a frozen knife. It was almost painful despite the numb lethargy he felt since waking up and alongside the curling dread he felt at the idea of being recaptured, it kept him from sitting down and resting.

In this weather, he's not sure he would even wake up again.

_What now?_

He halts, pace faltering before coming to a complete stop.

Wasn't that a thought. What now? What should he do next? His plan only went so far as to getting out from his prison.

What was his next step -what did he have to do now?

Not knowing made his hands twitch and something curl within his belly. Katsuki didn't like the idea of not knowing what to do. He didn't like having a task -it left him with too much time and too many confusing thoughts swirling within that gaping hole that was his mind. He needed to have something to do, it was the only way he could keep himself sane.

Should he find...a police station?

That was where cops worked, right? Katsuki ambled over to the nearest wall and leaned against it, exhaling as he hunched over himself slightly, fingers digging into the fabric of the green coat. Under the light of a nearby streetlamp, he can spy a few flecks of dry, brown blood just above the fluffy white helm of the vest.

And what then?

Announce his name to them, get a pro-hero on site?

Go back to Yuuei?

At the thought, his head _aches_. Feels like it's suddenly cracked open -the pain is enough to make him flinch and tuck his head in.

'_Kacchan!'_

'_Hey buddy, there you are!'_

'_Young Bakugo!'_

_Shut up shut up shut up I don't want to __**remember**_ _-_

The tiniest hysterical giggle leaves him, which he has to stifle by shoving a knuckle into his mouth and bite down until it passed. He's thankful the hood of the vest covers his face.

It couldn't be that easy.

It just couldn't.

_It fucking couldn't._

Not after everything, things couldn't just snap back in place, whatever those places were. What would he even do there? Return to people he could barely remember?

Return like nothing...nothing happened?

Or start over with them?

No.

_No._

He couldn't. He couldn't go back. He's too...he's not that Bakugo Katsuki anymore. He can't be that person anymore. He's not sure there even was anything left of that person in him. He's not that boy

anymore, and Katsuki doesn't even have the strength to delude himself.

_(But what now?)_

The uncertainty makes him shudder.

No plan.

No task.

No directive.

_No orders._

Nothing to do but be subject to his own scattered thoughts.

He's not-

_(Not built for this.)_

A loud crash startles him, instinctively sending him reaching for a knife under his coat as his swirling thought abruptly coming to a halt. He could defend himself with his Quirk just as well, but it felt safer to do so with a weapon -something he still remembered how to use.

Katsuki peers up from under the hood at his surroundings for the source of the sound, only to see a man exit the alley he was standing not to far away from and walk away into the night. Dammit. He hadn't even _noticed _the alley.

He watches him go with detached eyes, observing the slightly rumbled clothes and the dark brown hair. The unhurried spring in his steps, the way he tucked his hands into his pockets and straightened his spine while the few people that were still out in the street after dark kept trying to bend low. The contrast was startling.

It stirs something in him. Makes his lips twitch with the urge to curl back and bare his teeth.

Ruby eyes flick over to the alley.

His feet carry him forward long before he makes up his mind. There's nearly no light in the alley, something that once might have made him hesitant -but Katsuki was used to the dark, and it was almost as comforting at having a something to do, a goal to reach for.

At first glance, there's nothing in the alley beyond trash and dirty, yellow snow. Scarlet eyes survey the area, slowly adjusting to the dark as he tries to pick out what had caused the commotion.

Then he hears it.

"_Stay away."_

It's a tiny, snarled wheeze coming from his right, not even a few feet away from him. At the unexpected sound he tenses, grip near white on the knife hanging from his hip. Turning, Katsuki's eyes lock onto something almost hidden amongst the trash cans.

There's a woman on the ground.

Hair in disarray, purse thrown aside, contents spilling everywhere amongst the snow and trash. She's laying on her left side tucked in between two dumpsters. Her shoulders are shaking, pulled inwards to shield herself.

She's also half naked.

Her clothes are practically torn from her small figure, laying around her in disarray. Pale, feverish skin exposed to the cold winter night and covered in angry red marks and the beginning of bruises. Katsuki's gaze slowly shifts to the end of the alley where the man had left. He's out of sight, but at the calm, relaxed pace he had been walking he couldn't be more than a block away.

_No more than a block..._

The woman looked up to him, eyes wet and glistening with tears yet burning with something else -helpless, pathetic rage.

Hopelessness.

Katsuki feels drawn to that look. It stirs something in him -something familiar and just as ugly as when he'd contemplating letting a building fall on top of him.

In the moment, he doesn't know why he did it. But when he looks at the woman, looks at the footprints on the snow, something _clicks _into place. A feeling he can't truly understand slips into place and locks there, easing the tension he carried through his body.

Suddenly, he knows what to do.

Now that the threat had been located, his silent mind slowly unfurls, though not as before. Instead it sharpens, narrowing down until the only thing he sees were footprints on dirty snow and brown, fluffy hair. Like a rabid dog suddenly locking on a scent, he _knows_.

This is a task.

This is something he can _do_.

Still he hesitates, unsure of this -unsure by the lack of guiding hands, of the warmth of a body against his own and a voice in his ears. There's nobody here to tell him what to do -he's a weapon, guideless and without an owner, drifting. Here, he has no one to turn to.

Or maybe not.

Maybe that's what he thinks.

He slowly shifts his head to look back at the woman on the cold, freezing ground. She's huddled against the wall, attempting to right the torn pieces of clothing hanging off her shivering body. All long quivering limbs tucked close, a frail, broken little thing that stared up at him with eyes that are almost as empty as his.

Eyes that begged _why_.

A ruby gaze flicks back to the alley's exit. The footprints are there, still fresh. There's still time -the man's not far gone.

_Not far gone._

_Still close._

_Still nearby._

_**Still in range.**_

This train of thought, this _understanding _reaches deep into Katsuki, gripping tight something dark and sharp hiding in the shadows and heaving it up to the forefront of his mind. A instinct buried deep, a manufactured desire that carved its place in his head through clawed hands and lopsided grins and sharp knives and _white hot pain-_

Katsuki swallows and shifts on his feet. His right hand grazes over his hip, touching the knife holster.

He doesn't feel the freezing, biting winter cold anymore.

He doesn't feel _anything _anymore.

The scattered mess of information his brain captured was drowned out by static -and the burning image of footprints in the snow.

Katsuki takes a step forward.

Then another.

And another.

His vision narrows down to the footprints, his mind filling with emotions he can no longer explain, twisting and coiling together until they drowned each other in the static and finally, there was only one thing left-

**.**

**.**

**.**

'_...then, you'll stop feeling and just do whatever you want.'_

* * *

**That guy's so fucked.**

**So! A few strands of foreshadowing this chapter, which I'm really happy is cleared out because now we can start with the actual story. Next chapter is gonna be from Katsuki's point of view (we'll finally see what he looks like now, yay (not), and afterwards we start seeing other people's perspective. It'll be fun I swear. You won't need tissues.**

**I think.**

**Also have fun figuring where in the canon timeline we are now. I left some hints.**

**PS: For the ones waiting on Stygian Fire and See(Too Much) I knoooow, I'm getting my ducks in a row this weekend to push it out. Gimme a break, Stygian's next chapter is over 40 pages long on Gmail. Urghh.**


	5. Purpose

**Long time no see friends! Let's get this show on the road!**

**This chapter is pretty emotional, my only saving grace was my song selection for this story. Counting on Hearts by Icon For Hire and Superhero by Johnny Hollow were a godsend.**

**But by far the best one I used to really get into the mindset of this story was a remix/merge of Gasoline and Believer by GINGERGREEN 'mashup on youtube. If there is one song I love to assosiate with this story, its that one. In my head I replace the male singer with Katsuki and the female as Toga and it just works. The way both songs compete against each other until Toga's (Gasoline) song overwhelms and incorporates Katsuki's (Believer) is good shit.**

**Urgh.**

**I spent many nights using this song to build this story's plot. Anyhow, I'll stop annoying the lot of you now.**

**Onwards with the angst train!**

* * *

The _crunch crunch crunch_ of dirty, packed snow under his feet was a interesting noise that more than once nearly took his attention away from his target.

Nevertheless, even here in this strange world of tall buildings and open dark sky that was so different from his cell, Katsuki is able to stay on target.

He doesn't feel the cold anymore. Katsuki's not sure if he was acclimated to the freezing temperature or not, but it didn't feel as grating as it was before -or maybe it was the fact he had something to do narrowed down his swirling thoughts. Something to strive for; a goal that kept him occupied. Kept him from going still and cold and _lost _again, too many panicking thoughts tearing each other apart inside his skull until it felt like it was about to burst.

And if there was one thing he didn't want to feel anymore, it was that state of limbo. There was a difference between that sense of abandonment, both of the physical and mental realm, to the emptiness he felt now. _Now _was static and intent mingling into one; _now _was something that his mind could latch on to like a starving dog to a bone.

Keeping it fed, staving off the hunger if just for a little longer.

_So long as I follow him._

Something twists inside him like a angry, writhing snake when he looks at the man standing a few scant feet forward, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the light to turn green. Nonchalant. Content.

(Innocent.)

The street lights illuminated the faces of the few people still walking around him, the sound of their hurried steps lost to the chaos of passing cars and bright flashing headers and teleprompters. Katsuki pauses briefly as he hears loud, drawn out wailing, the sound too high pitched and loud to be human.

Moments later, he watches as a firetruck speeds by, quickly followed by another. Snow billows around him, the pale banks of snow stirred up by the passing vehicles' presence. Some sneaks under his coat, almost making him shudder -that is, if he still felt the cold.

Katsuki exhales slowly; the air leaves his lips as a cold mist, making his eyes flutter as it brushes against his eyelashes.

He looks up. One of the televised billboards flickers, the lower half of the screen cracked, but still working. There's text scrolling atop of the screen, hovering over a man with a single horn. The picture of a strange, lanky creature to his side, large wings stretched and pale skin blue under the lights.

_**Fifteen Dead and Thirty-Two In Osaka's Fifth Nomu Attack**_

Huh.

Katsuki barely has the time to blink before the teleprompter flickers and a new reel appears.

_**Third Hero Death in Shizuoka: Hero Safety Commission Weights In**_

A car honks, snapping his attention forward. Green light.

The man is trotting onwards, crossing the street while checking his phone.

Dutifully, he follows.

While he keeps a respectful distance from his target, he can't help but sneak a glance or two at the headers on the buildings. A lot of them were shut down or either too damaged, but the scant few that were still alight this time into the night had either advertisements or videos _-news-_ running.

They reach another crossroad. Another red light. The man shifts uncomfortably in front of him, a brief flash of restlessness before it melt away.

It's alright. Katsuki could afford to wait. He shifts his eyes to the ground, diverting his attention to what he hears. Cars. People. Horns. The crunch of snow.

(Too loud.)

He squeezes his eyes shut, hard, then opens them. Not wanting to attract attention, he tucks his head low -though not that low, forcing himself to look relaxed- and scuffles the dirty, watery snow at his feet with a worn boot.

'_Don't look too busy. That draws more attention to you, and if they see you too many times they will remember. They will notice you.'_

Katsuki looks at the street light again, silently waiting for it to turn green again. Snow falls on his face, sticking to his lashes. Despite the cold and the wetness, he blinks slowly, absorbing the alien sensation. Testing it if he remembers it.

He doesn't.

The light turns green.

Katsuki marches onward; his feet move on his own, his body is on autopilot, mind falling back to static as it lets instincts guide him onwards. Trudging through melted snow in front of the too bright headlights of cars. Once more he's grateful for the hood. Dirty and matted as it was, the rumpled clothes kept his sensitive eyes from being damaged by the lights.

(It was going to take some used to, not being in the dark anymore.)

The man's in front of him. Still walking. His phone has been tucked back into his pocket.

Too close.

Katsuki falters faintly, letting the distance grow between them. He waits a few more seconds before picking up the pace again.

'_Slow, but not too slow, darling. Never follow in a straight line, and stay as far away as you can without losing sight of the target. There's no fun in a hunt if you lose your prey.'_

The buildings around him are shorter, stockier. _Apartments_, a tiny part of him whispers. Living quarters. That's where the man was heading.

That was the end of the road.

His left hand sneaks down and tightens on the knife at his hip. He fights against the urge to unsheath it, his muscles coiling like a snake about to strike. Not yet. Close, but not yet.

Stopping in front of a small, box-shaped building, the man walks up a short flight of five stairs and reaches his door. He fumbles with his pockets, rubbing his hands together briefly in a attempt to ward off the winter cold.

Katsuki makes his move, silently slinking forward like a panther towards the exposed back. Muscles coiling in preparation, he takes a moment to check the windows. No lights. Empty.

There's the clicking of keys. The door opens with a creak in front of the man, the sound incredibly loud for his ears.

_Now._

He darts forward, each step calculated and silent. It's disarmingly easy to sneak up behind the man, grab him by the hair and harshly pull to the right. Disbalanced and surprised, the dark haired man flails and his head tilts alongside his hair to minimize damage, a garbled sound leaving his lips.

Unfortunately, it also leaves his neck bared to Katsuki. It's his last mistake.

"What the f-"

The phrase he is about to finish dissolves into a gurgle as Katsuki swiftly sinks his knife into his neck, ripping savagely in a sawing motion just before the carotid artery and the cervical spine.

Blood splatters. Vocal cords severed from the trachea and lungs he cannot scream, only gurgle as Katsuki rips his knife out and finishes the job by cutting the rest of his mangled throat open in the same, smooth movement.

His knees buckle under the sudden weight, brought on by his victim's weakened, trembling legs. Nevertheless, they hold.

Stoically he quickly pushes the dying man forward into the apartment to avoid staining the front door, dropping him on the floor before closing the door behind him with the same nonchalant one would have when coming home after a hard day of work.

The apartment hallway quickly becomes a mess. Blood comes out in spurts from the severed arteries, darkening the carpet. Checking on last time for movement outside, Katsuki turns the lock on the door, trapping them both in the apartment.

The man's too busy trying to breathe through a severed trachea to do more than twist and gurgle on the floor.

Stepping over the mass of trembling limbs, Katsuki stares down in front of the dying man, gazing at him silently as he lets out his last few rasping attempts for air. His eyes were rolling in their sockets, mouth gaping wide then closing then opening again like a fish out of water. The blood was slowly spreading, stretching out across the carpet like a dark mantle. Fingers dig into the carpet, desperate for the strength their owner was quickly losing.

Katsuki doesn't bother waiting. Turning away from the entrance, he heads deeper into the apartment. The blood squishes under his boots. He can feel its warmth. It's familiar.

Comforting.

He makes his way beyond the entrance hall, ending up in what looked like a small living room. The weight of the case on his back was becoming too much, so he gently slid it off his shoulders before setting it down on the middle of the room. He could look at its contents more closely later.

Right now, there were more pressing matters to take care of.

Every room, every closet, every window is checked thoroughly. Curtains are drawn shut, locks are tested. Katsuki prowls the apartment, his thundering heart guiding him forward, commanding him to make sure he would not find any surprises.

Sometime during this process the green coat becomes too heavy for his taste; all it takes is a quick unzip to have it fall off his thin shoulders with ease. Katsuki allows it to fall in a heap at his feet. It had escaped the kill with little blood so it might be reusable.

Later.

He could think about that later.

For now, he was complacent to let his body take the reigns.

His feet take him back to the living room and beyond. As he does so the blond passes by the owner of the house once more. His body is where he'd left him spread out on the carpet, only now there were no tiny twitches or minute spasm, only a still quietness that brought Katsuki some sense of calm.

The man looked tiny now. Weak. Pathetic.

As pathetic as that woman had looked amongst the snow, stripped bare of her clothes and dignity.

(As pathetic as Katsuki had been, not too long ago.)

Instead of staying there as he easily could, watching the blood coagulate on the carpet, Katsuki heads for the kitchen.

The open cabinet at the other side of the room catches his attention immediately. What once was given a passing glance when he'd searched the house was now a beacon from Katsuki -whom could now truly feel the gaping pit in his stomach.

How long had it been since he'd last eaten?

His hands reach in, picking up a box. Hunger clawing at his guts, Katsuki wastes no time opening it to peer at its contents. The curious small rectangular shapes packed inside make him tilt his head in perplexion.

Despite his apprehension he starts nibbling on the crackers, committing the salty taste to memory. The way the material broke under his teeth, how vivid the taste was when he swiped his tongue over the encrusted salt crystals. It was nothing he was familiar with but nothing new either and yet, _and yet_, he can't help but savour it.

He knows this is something he'd done before. He'd eaten this before, or something similar. The thought makes him restless and reassures him at once.

The dry food items are quickly abandoned after this, left to the side in favour of the small fridge tucked in a corner. He ducks low as he opens it, squinting at the bright light and the sudden wash of dry cold expanding from the inside of the fridge.

There's not a lot inside. A half rotted fruit or two, some leftovers and a few bottles. At first he stood there, unsure. Staring at things he can only barely recognize. Eventually, one of the bottles catches his attention over the rest with its dark brown packaging and the couple of little emotive mascots on the label and he takes it.

Swiping it quickly from the plate, he closes the fridge and tug the bottle open. Lifting it to his face, he sniffs it carefully like its a bomb about to go off. The smell tickles something in his brain, a foggy package of emotion he cannot quite grasp, so he follows it and takes a cautious sip.

It's sweet. Really, really sweet. It's the most tasty thing he'd eaten in….in a long time. Katsuki stares down at the small bottle, tilting his head as he licks his lips, savouring the sugary taste. Gauging the slightly bitter aftertaste.

...chocolate.

It's chocolate.

Katsuki exhales softly as he tilts the bottle again, drinking more to quell the gnawing hunger. It's nice, despite how cold it was. It slips down his throat and settles uneasily in his belly. It's not the worst thing he'd eaten that he remembers, and the taste is _good_. The burst of sensations on his tongue melts something in him, and he finds himself craving more of it.

So, he keeps drinking.

He's only halfway down the bottle when his stomach rebels.

The sink's just barely within range by the time the chocolate climbs back up, burning cold in his throat tasting of bile in his mouth. Katsuki chokes as he heaves into the sink, quietly gagging as he empties his stomach into the sink.

When it's over, he can only wince at the horrid taste in his mouth leftover from throwing up. It's the most intense sensation today to have pierced through the cold numbness, and it leaves him shaking and snarling at nothing.

Looking at the mess left in the sink, Katsuki can only feel disgusted at himself.

_Can't even do this, can I?_

Wrenching himself away from the sink, he stumbles uneasily back to the living room. He eyes the metal case on the floor, contemplating opening it and taking a closer look at its contents.

Ultimately, his eyes land on the bathroom door.

Now that there was nothing to do, he's suddenly all too aware of the dryness of his skin. Of the faint sensation of dirt in his joints and the tightness of matted hair upon his head. Looking down at himself, Katsuki numbly notes at the numerous holes and burns of his shirt. It sticks to his skin. His boots are covered in blood, and the splatter of red creeps up his pants.

It's still warm.

But it's not comfortable. Not anymore.

_I'm filthy_, he thinks as he ambles into the bathroom, clicking the light open.

The light fixture flashes over his head, the sudden bright white combined with the equally pale tiles making him flinch and close his eyes briefly, sensitive sight burning at the excess light flowing into his pupils. His mild discomfort doesn't last long -not when he spots a small, rectangular mirror over the bathroom sink. It's set in a way he can see the tiles on the wall reflecting on its surface.

Katsuki freezes.

_...how long has it been…?_

Slowly, as if he was about to step onto a landmine, he makes his way through the bathroom. He feels the tension in his own shoulders, how his footsteps become lighter than ever, silent as a grave.

Reaching the sink, Katsuki pushes through the last of his apprehension and looks into the mirror.

His gaze meets blood red.

When Katsuki is aware of his surroundings again, he finds himself on the floor, back against the cold tiles of the opposite wall. Insides twisting within his gut, blood colder than snow. Gasping for air.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why had his reflection dragged up such primal fear from his mind?

Was there that much damage?

Or was it something else…?

_I can do this. I'm not a child._ He grits his teeth, grinding them together hard enough that it hurts. _There's no logical reason to be scared. This is me._

He pauses.

Right.

_This is me._

(How long had it been since…?)

Now, he's curious again. It mutes the apprehension. The fear gives, lessening to a tolerable degree as he reaches out and grabs the edge of the sink, using it to gently slide from his knees to his feet and stand.

When his eyes cross his reflection, there's a jolt of pure fear that runs through his veins like a lightning strike. His grip on the sink tightens exponentially, but he's able to stand his ground this time.

_I'm thin._

It's the first thing he thinks, and rightly so. With the green coat left in the living room, it leaves the lean, wiry definition of his shoulders and arms exposed. Pale, almost ash-like skin greets him, almost translucent. Tilting his head up, Katsuki spots the dark blue of his veins in the crook of his arms and parts of his neck.

His eyes are sunken in their sockets from the lack of proper nutrition. They're red, dark and...empty, if that was one way he could describe them. Maybe it was the _only _way to describe them.

It's like there were no lights within their depths -nothing there to search for.

The only splatter of color was on his cheekbones, and he's not sure what to think. Reaching, Katsuki runs his fingers over the slightly raised flesh, curious at the rough texture. He traces the crescent shape, engraving to memory the way the inflamed red marks hug the shape of his eye sockets.

Katsuki knew what scar tissue looked like. He had a few, from the looks of it, thin and silvery on the left side of his chin and parts of his arms.

This wasn't it.

Uncomfortable, he looks down. His gaze drifts across the tiles, ending up on the sink. Suddenly, he remembers why he came to the bathroom.

He'll get more color once he was in the shower.

Maybe.

Katsuki was too tired to be hopeful. Overwhelmed, silent, he can only take all of him in and think one thing:

_I look like a corpse. Like someone took my body and made me walk again using strings._

That last thought leaves a ugly feeling wiggling in his gut like a parasite. He divers his gaze away from the mirror, hoping to calm his frayed nerves -to no avail. His attention lands on the shower.

He looks back at his reflection. The dirt on his face, the matted mess of his hair.

_...maybe if I get clean..._

Slowly, methodically, he shrugs off his shirt, then the rest of his clothes. He doesn't feel the cold against his naked skin as he steps into the shower. He doesn't feel the heat when he turns it on either.

What he does feel though, is feels heavy.

Too heavy.

Following that sudden feeling, Katsuki lets his knees fold underneath him and slowly sinks to the ground.

...it's better now. The water is coming down on top of his head and shoulders, blistering hot and almost burning. Steam rose all around him, cloaking his vision, pale twisting shapes he could lose himself examining if he had the heart to.

But the water doesn't make things better. If anything, it makes him even more aware of the cold in his chest, of the lankiness of his limbs and the weight of his hair upon his head. It enhances all of those sensations, burning away the touch of the outside world until Katsuki was only aware of one thing -his body.

His strange, alien, foreign body, that he could no longer recognize.

Katsuki closes his eyes. Shudders.

A lonely thought strays through his broken mind.

_They really took everything._

The shell around his heart cracked.

The brayed scream that tore it's way out of Katsuki's throat barely sounded human to his own ears. It exploded from his gut, up his throat and out of his mouth with the force of an explosion, sapping all his strength at once, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls of the bathroom and drowning out his hearing.

He screams, a loud shrill bellow of pent up energy that leaves him shuddering on the shower stall floor. When it's over, he takes a choked, gasping gulp of air, and screams again. Clutching the sides of his head, digging his nails into wet, messy hair, howling with enough strength that he felt like at any moment, his vocal cords would tear.

He doesn't know how much time he spends sitting there under the shower, gulping and choking down air and before promptly expelled it as twisted, broken wails. His limbs seized and shook as he wrapped himself tightly in his own arms in a desperate attempt to keep himself together.

It didn't work, because he felt like he was slipping, _drowning_, breaking apart as easily as Toga and Shigaraki tore him apart. Even here he could feel their hands on him, the warmth of their bodies pressing against his own, their voices so close and low against his ears as they guided his hands and he the foolish, foolish little pet, let them.

He was losing himself, the warmth of the water raining down on his scarred, emaciated form barely registering at the back of his head. Even the death grip his fingers had on his hair felt faint. The physical pain is nothing compared to the memories.

(Why did he lose everything except those? _Why?)  
_  
He screamed until his body stopped shaking, until his throat felt torn and dry and worn. Until he was swaying side to side, sniffing and sobbing like a child, body seizing with each wet gulp of air Katsuki took. He felt too stretched -too torn apart, spread out thin until he can't even figure where his mind ended and the dark, empty cold in his head began.

It's broken, he realizes distantly. His mind is a broken, fragmented mess and he doesn't know where to start to fix it.

The loud _bang bang bang_ and ensuing _shut up!_ from the neighbours on the other side of the wall barely registered in his ears.

It does however remind him where he was.

The rest of his shower is quiet.

After he's clean and his hair feels several pounds lighter, Katsuki reaches and turns off the water. Before he leaves the bathroom, he looks at himself in the mirror again, the tiniest surge of hope coursing through him at the thought that maybe the showers had changed things.

It dies the moment his gaze crosses with his reflection.

He's...no less pale. The marks on his cheekbones stand even more out against his almost ashen skin. His hair lays slightly flatter against his head, weighted down by its length, but it was still choppy and uneven, like he'd gone, fought a pair of scissors and lost miserably.

Not even the ridiculousness of that thought brings him humor.

Naked, he stumbles into the living room, bypassing his pile of clothes completely. His toes brush against something soft and he looks down, recognizing the green coat with the dark fur trim. Bending down, he picks it up and wraps it around his shoulders. It reaches down to his thighs and smells of metal, enclosed space and blood.

Katsuki noses the fur trim gently, breathing in the smell with a slow, careful intake of air. He squeezes his eyes shut. The familiarity is steadying after what happened in the shower.

When he opens his eyes again, he feels more together. His mind unfurls, remembering his situation. Standing in the living room of a unknown home, naked save the green coat. A body cooling in the hallway. The night outside is quiet save the sound of passing cars and a occasional honk in the distance.

Once more, Katsuki considers his options.

Keep running. Maybe get on a plane, find somewhere as far away from Japan and Shigaraki and Toga -somewhere he could start anew, away from those who ripped chunks out of his mind and body until he barely remembered his own name.

Or, he could hand himself over to the local police department. Go back to Yuuei. Try to do...whatever he'd been doing before. Attempt to pick up what little scattered remains of himself he had left inside this rotting head of his-

….what good would come out of picking that? This option sounded too hopeless.

A idealized ending to the situation he was in now.

But if he didn't do that, and he didn't pick any of the others…what was left, truly? He's resolute in his decision of not going back to Yuuei. There was nothing there for him. Everything that tied to that place -to that life- was a glitchy, broken, mangled mess at the back of his brain, and nothing they could offer him there would fix it.

He wouldn't heal. The wounds had already scarred over.

He won't be that person anymore.

Ever.

_Bakugo Katsuki is dead._

(What now, then?)

Searching, his wandering eyes fall on the suitcase he'd left in the living room. It's still there abandoned on the floor, set on its side. Metallic surface glinting lowly under the lamp light.

Something squirms in Katsuki's gut at the sight.

He knows what's inside.

He knows what it means.

He knows _why _it exists.

Still, he's somehow enraptured by the sight. He's only aware that he's touching the suitcase when he feels his knees rest against the carpet and the coldness of the case's metallic surface under his hand.

Silent, he slides his fingers down to the lock. It takes but a twist and a click, and he can slide the tip of his fingers in and pull the suitcase open.

Reaching inside, he feels his fingers brush against soft, firm cloth.

**.**

**.**

**.**

It won't fulfill its purpose.

It never will.

...but that doesn't mean it can find another use.

* * *

**Anyone spy the symbolism there 0.o**

**Apologies for how long this took to update. It was meant to be released last week, but this chapter was particularly difficult with how delicate it is. It's basically setting up the plot of the second arc of the story. Now that Katsuki is free from the villains, he's guideless. He's free to do whatever he wants.**

**Old Bakugo would have gone straight to the police. Not this one.**

**It's going to be bloody.**

**Social Media is going to be a important aspect of this story as well. As Katsuki's actions become more known and the villain numbers start tanking, this is going to have an effect on the whole of Japan. Think of it as a secondary plot, beyond Katsuki's own story. There's some foreshadowing of this in this chapter, and it's going to get worse (or better)? **

**Not gonna get overly political, but it's important because I will touch on Quirk Laws and the regulations of Quirk use. With the unstable climate of Japan, heroes generally scrambling to make peace, the status quo is very much up in the air.**

**WARNING: From now on there will be some manga spoilers. I don't read the manga but I got spoiled a bit lately since waiting for season 4. I'm also kicking canon is the fucking head like its a dead horse though, so while events will be mentioned in this story that take place in canon, they are far and few in between.**

**TLDR: Canon's pretty much out the window with this story. Still, beware if you really don't want to get manga spoilers.**

**Next chapter will have a small part with Bakugo, but it will be mainly about Yuuei, and how Class 1-A is going. Prepare for some angst.**


	6. Bird Set Free

**Meant to update See (Too Much) and Stygian Fire**

**Somehow finishes this instead.**

**Okay, at least I update my stuff often?**

**(Saturn sobs quietly in a corner.)**

* * *

There's no moon out tonight.

He looks out the window of his office silently. At that moment, Toshinori is almost tempted to sit here and look out into the starry night sky. Let his mind wander and his thoughts fizzle out into nothingness along with his worries under the vast void of space.

But the weight of his responsibilities anchored him to the present, denying him this freedom. No, he had too much to worry about to even think about relaxing.

Even permanently trapped in this thin, weak, emaciated body, his work was not done.

The former Number One Hero steps out of his chambers, heading out of the teachers' dorms in silence. He uses his keycard at the entrance door; there's a beep where the machine recognizes it and the lock is released.

Outside is just as cold as he'd expected. Wind sweeps across the barren campus road, snowflakes stirring up in its wake. As a winter breeze makes its way to him, Toshinori clutches his wool scarf tightly against his neck to keep stray snow from slipping in.

This was another thing he wasn't used too. No longer could he rely on One for All to keep him warm.

The tall, evenly spaced street lights illuminate the way for him, and he encounters no one save from the occasional patrol droid. Since Kamino, Nedzu had increased the number of patrol robots across the campus, and a few of the Pointers robots for the entrance exam had been re-outfitted to serve as a last line of defence in case of a villain making its way into the campus.

Toshinori himself wasn't that optimistic that they could stop a Nomu or a member of the League, but their added presence served to quell the media somewhat and reassure the students.

(Or at least, some of them.)

He reaches the student dorms in a matter of minutes. The light on the entrance door was still on; and there was a bag of trash left out on the side of the building. Stepping onto the porch, Toshinori quickly taps his winter boots against a wall, clearing the bottom of compacted snow.

Silent, he waved his keycard in front of the receiver on the wall.

_**Beep. Click.**_

The door unlocks.

He steps inside, his boots making next to no noise on the plush carpet. Closing the door gently behind him, Toshinori shudders as he takes in the warm air inside the dorm. It seeps into his clothes and sinks into his skin, revigorating his weary body.

It's strength that he will need.

His scarf and coat are hung by the entrance. Checking his hair for snow, the retired Pro-Hero made his way deeper into the dorms. It didn't take long before he reached the common room.

It wasn't empty.

There's a boy curled up snugly on the couch, tea in hand and book on his lap. Toshinori can't read the title from here, but it seemed like one of the history books for the Hero Program. He didn't dwell on its contents long, as a pair of mismatched eyes lifted from its pages and landed on him.

"Young Todoroki." Toshinori greets with a small smile, to which the young boy answers with a polite nod of the head. "Good afternoon. Have you seen Midoriya?"

The Todoroki heir did not answer right away, rather choosing to take in his appearance. Toshinori tries to not fidget as those differently colored eyes gaze up at him, searching. Todoroki's expression is blank, a mask that left no crack or weakness to be seen -and yet, his eyes betrayed a quiet intensity and protectiveness that made the former Number One Hero feel glad that his successor had such friends by his side.

(After everything, Midoriya needed this.)

"He's in the gym." Todoroki finally answers.

Oh.

That would explain the teen's behavior. This late could only mean one thing. Toshinori can't fight the exhale that leaves him.

Looked like it was one of _those _nights.

"Thank you." He tells the teen gently. Todoroki merely nods and turns back to his book and teacup.

Toshinori quickly exits, not wanting to interrupt the dual haired teen's studying anymore than he already had, especially at such a critical time. Winter Camp was coming up and with it came the finals for their first year. All the students were working overtime to study, scrambling to make sure they were up on all the material in their classes.

So far they seemed to be doing well, though Toshinori would be blind if he did not see how a certain redhead and a electric blonde were struggling in their written work. Young Yaoyorozu has been working overtime to help them, but often enough he would spot the two huddled up in the library alone. Preferably in a corner away from prying ears or eyes, they would pass back and forth school notes and whisper quietly to each other.

They were a lot more subdued, these past six months. All of them were.

His heart felt tight.

He hoped they would pass all of their written and physical exams. Every one of his students deserved to continue their education; each one had their own personal reasons and drives to strive forward.

Shaking his head out of those depressing thoughts, Toshinori heads out of the communal room and makes his way down to the basement, to the small gym built into the student dorms.

The door there was open. He can hear the loud _thud thud_ of fists against something hard and unyielding; the occasional harsh exhale and repressed grunts as a body was pushed to it's limits. Even if he knew what to expect -this was far from the first late night workout he'd stumbled upon- Toshinori felt his shoulders drop at the sounds coming from beyond the door.

Still, he gathers his courage. _I am his teacher. It is my duty to guide him forward, to care for him if he stumbles or falls. I cannot fail him._

(He's already failed one.)

Exhales softly, he reaches for the door.

The lights are on.

There's a figure at the back of the gym; fists clenched and shoulders heaving, Midoriya Izuku was wailing on a training dummy without the use of his Quirk. Kicks, elbow bashes and fists rained down on the training equipment. Sweat drips down his bare arms, highlighting muscles that were steadily building up after nearly two years of constant training.

Toshinori says nothing upon entering. He merely walks over and sits down in a nearby bench and waits for the teen to finish his exercise. Midoriya pauses for a moment, movements faltering before picking up again. Toshinori spies the quick glance of dull green eyes his way before they return to their target.

Minutes pass with only the occasional grunt and the sound of flesh hitting the dummy. His form is perfect. Months of constant, single-minded training had reinforced the young boy's body, readying him to take on more and more of One for All's power.

He looked so different from the boy Toshinori met what felt like decades ago, starry-eyed and dreaming of heroes and happy ever afters.

That boy is still there, he reassures himself quietly. Buried deep, but still there.

Midoriya eventually stops his workout and comes to stand in front of his training dummy. The gym is quiet, safe for the sound of harsh breathing. Toshinori waits, staring at the ground intently as his successor does the same. He hears the boy pick up his water bottle and uncap it, but the retired hero can't find it in himself to look.

It's almost as if his gaze was weighted down. He can't muster the strength to face his charge.

"I was there." Izuku finally mutters. "This weekend -I went over to spend some time…" The green-haired boy trails off, gulping down a sip of his water bottle. The sound is too loud in the too quiet gym. "I opened the door."

Silence. Izuku isn't even panthing anymore from his workout; he's holding his breath in.

Toshinori can only wait.

"Miss Bakugo tried take over but I overheard the conversation. What they said." He swallows. The sound is unbelievably loud in the too quiet gym. "What they wanted."

Silence.

A clatter. The water bottle clatters to the ground, spilling water across the floor.

"_How fucking __**dare **__they!"_

Toshinori can barely keep himself from flinching.

"There's no body!" Midoriya snarls, whirling around; Toshinori's gaze feels yanked up to meet his, almost against his will. The teen's green eyes were wide and suddenly alight with righteous, wild fury. "No _proof _that he's dead! No demand, no statement from the League!" Midoriya continues, almost heaving with the force of his yelling. "The investigation is still ongoing-!"

"Officially."

Izuku grows quiet.

Toshinori hates the words that leaves his own lips. It feels like poison; a knife driven into the back of his successor. Still, he continues. "It's still officially ongoing."

Izuku's head drops, messy green curls covering his face.

Toshinori thinks he hears his student let out a muffled whimper. He says nothing.

"He's not dead." His student exhales. Izuku's green eyes meet his again; so dull, so desperate and lost, at that moment Toshinori couldn't stop his hitched breath at the sight. "He's not dead."

The words feel like a spear had been driven into his chest. Like All for One had ripped out his stomach and part of his lung once more, left him bleeding and rotting on the battlefield. But this time, Toshinori couldn't find it in himself the strength to get up.

How could he, when the very determination that had held him up for so many years had been sapped from his body?

Months had passed since that fateful training camp.

Toshinori didn't even want to think about it, but it seemed like it haunted every one of his waking moments. Every turn he took, everywhere he looked at, there was something that brought him to that day when he'd stepped out of his bath and got the call from Aizawa.

'_Bakugo was taken.'_ His fellow teacher had exhaled, his voice somber. Toshinori could barely pick up the rough quality of it that betrayed his exhaustion, no doubt having spent hours talking to the police. '_The League infiltrated the camp. They have him.'_

It felt like the ground fell out under his feet.

And then, _and then-_

He'd thought Kamino was his chance. To get Bakugo back, to make things _right_. To reassure the world that he was here -that _heroes _were looking out for them. To set things the way they were meant to be and uphold his master's legacy as well as everything he'd worked so hard on.

Instead, all he had to show for it were new broken bones and a permanently thin, sickly body.

Kamino had torn the last few dregs of One for All from his body, leaving him the shell he'd been slowly withering into despite his best efforts. This was an inevitable fate, but Toshinori hadn't expected it so soon. It wasn't supposed to happen this soon.

...and yet, here they were.

His title, gone. The world's trust in him, fractured. His student, still missing.

The last one hurt the most.

He was not close to Bakugo, per say. He was his heroics teacher, nothing more -but Bakugo was important to Izuku, and between that and the sheer potential the blond possessed Toshinori couldn't help but be drawn to the boy. Bakugo Katsuki would be a great hero, he knew this. It was a fact, a foundation for a future he was striving to built.

And that potential, that promise -gone.

Taken.

Stolen.

Worse was the way the League never mentioned Bakugo again.

No taunt, no ransom, nothing. The few sparse time someone encountered them, there was no news on the missing student. No news, no passing mention, nothing that would allow Toshinori to hold on to the idea that maybe, just maybe, his young student was alive somewhere and not...not…

Dead and gone, rotting away somewhere dark and cold and _alone_-

Toshinori swallows.

The final nail in the coffin -and the reason of his young student's current behavior- had been last week, when Nedzu had finally given the greenlight for one Shinsou Hitoshi to be transferred to class 1-A...taking the spot that had belonged to the explosive blond.

Toshinori knew this was coming -knew that this was necessary, that they could not afford to wait any longer, but it still felt like a betrayal.

At his words his successor flinches back, eyes suddenly going wider and more terrified. "You're not...you're not giving up-?!" Midoriya croaks, the simmering fury that had inhabited him just moments prior melting like snow under the sun.

It was that particular reaction that makes Toshinori stand up.

"I'm not." He can't stop the sudden bruteness of his tone.

This was important. Critical, even.

Snuffing out Izuku's belief that Bakugo would never be found, that he would become just another victim in the history books, another statistic of the League's casualties -it would destroy his successor.

And Toshinori didn't even want to think about what would happen if that came to be.

Reaching out, he clasps his student's hands in his.

He feels a bit of courage return to him in the way that Midoriya doesn't pull away. His successor's hands are warm and firm, skin rough from wear and pulled tight over powerful tendons and muscles. Toshinori allows himself a moment to feel their weight in his hands; feel the future he has entrusted to this once small boy.

Then he lets it out:

"He will be found." Toshinori promises, and the words feel like acid on his tongue. Burning, burning lies. "Trust your old teacher, alright my boy? You cannot dwell in the _what ifs_, it will lead you down a dark path. That's no way to grow, young one."

Midoriya bites his lower lip, hesitating. He eventually makes a small, jerky nod. Toshinori takes it and runs with it, because he's certain that's the only thing he's going to get.

He wants to hug the boy, to tuck him close into his arms and hold him there until

"Good," The blond says, lifting one of his hands and resting it on his successor's head, ruffling the green locks. Midoriya's hair is oily and sweaty from his workout, but it was still soft, still familiar in its form and texture. No matter what happened, it was still part of him. "...now, go takes a shower and rest, young Midoriya. It's a school night."

"...fine." Midoriya's eyes flutter open. They're slightly glassy, and it makes his heart squeeze more. It feels even worse when the teen looks up at him, soft and vulnerable. "I will."

(Filthy liar.)

Midoriya steps away with a muttered _goodnight_. Letting to, Toshinori watches as the boy stumbles past him, bleary-eyed and heavy, and wobbles off towards the door.

It's only when his successor is out of sight that Toshinori lets his head drop, and his legs barely carry him in time to reach the bench. Elbows resting on his knees, he holds his face in his hands as he tries to _breathe_, to ease the crushing sensation around his heart.

_I cannot keep lying to him._

**.**

**.**

**.**

The sky is dark and full of stars.

Wind howled in his ears; tussling his hair. He makes no move to brush away the locks in front of his face, too captivated by the view.

Here, sitting high above amongst the wind and clouds, the world seems to stretch out to infinity under his feet. Tall spires of glass and concrete rose around him, gleaming towers of color and reflecting light that illuminated the world around him further.

Despite how far up he was, how far the ground and the streets were below, the fragments of his mind were wheeling, working overtime, picking out the places where there was the highest chance of encountering conflict. Finding the nooks and crannies he could go hide in, the places where his targets were lurking.

He sits there at the edge of the abyss, quietly looking down at the streaks of color the passing cars made amongst the grey snow. Absorbing the way the light from the lampposts and the teleprompter glinted off the slick metal.

Up here, the people below looked like nothing more than tiny dots.

Katsuki places a finger over one of them, watching intensely how they disappear from his sight with the distance. After a while, a breeze forces him to blink. It's slow and lethargic.

He _feels_ lethargic. Like a animal coming out of hibernation; a serpent, uncoiling as it wakes from it slumber.

And now, sitting here clad in his new skin, he's ready to step out of the shadows.

The dark, near black suit fits him perfectly; it's slightly baggy around his stomach and fans out on his legs, stopping just below his knees for the equally dark combat boots with orange spots and soles. His shoulders are bare to the world, the suit crawling up his torso to end in a tight, high neck collar with a orange trim -a color that curled around the edges of his suit and trailed as a straight line down the sides of the bodysuit.

Fingerless gloves made of the same material as the suit rose up to his upper arms, ending with the same orange and black trim as his neck collar. The most interesting part of the suit's contents sits on top of these gloves.

The surface of the gauntlets he was wearing was a burnished bronze, rough like sandpaper at the touch. Katsuki has forgotten the amount of time he'd ran his over the mosaic triangular designs on its surface, silently wondering why it looked so familiar, but _not_.

Sometimes he blinks and he thinks it's forest green, not bronze, but the image is gone as soon as he registers it.

No matter.

It fits like a glove, and that's all that was really important.

He lifts his arms, rotating his arms to aim his hands outwards as to not injure himself. Once he's certain he won't do just that, he curls his fingers upwards into the gauntlets, digs into the small handle hidden inside the items, hold it tight and _pulls_.

The sharpened spines of the gauntlet snap forward, sliding cross the length of Katsuki's arm to jut out like blades in front of him. The smooth, cold silver metal gleams under the cityscape lights, the slightly curving shape looking like slices of a crescent moon.

Katsuki silently examines the way the light changes when he tilts the swords around. Then he twist his fingers again.

Releases.

_Snap_.

The blades smoothly slide back to their original position. Katsuki lets his hands drop to his sides.

The mask on his lap is all that's left.

He looks down at it, studying its shape. The darkness of the material, how soft yet firm it was under his fingers. He turns it around to face him -stares at the sharp, narrow eye sockets in silence. The flaring, arching fins on either side, their shape a itch for his fragmented, jagged memories.

There's no orange at their tips, but he's certain there should be.

At least, there is something that faintly tickles the back of his head, whispering what it should look like.

It never clicks though, and he has to let this feeling go. He doesn't put the mask on however, instead choosing to hold it up and stare into the empty eye sockets intensely. It almost seemed to stare back, a detached, cold gaze that silently took him in his entirety, fragments and pieces and scars all for it to judge.

Masks had one purpose. To keep identities safe.

To keep that person's name a secret.

Extending his hands, he brings the mask to hover over the edge. It dangles from his fingers, barely illuminated by the stars above. Orange painted white and blue from the city lights.

He lets go.

Scarlet eyes track the way the thin cloth drifted on its way down, carried by the wind. He keeps watching until it's gone from sight, lost to him amongst the stone and glass of the cityscape.

Only then Katsuki closes his eyes.

Breathes in, breathes out.

Wing sweeps across the rooftop, brushing against the bare skin of his shoulders and arms. He barely feels it; no goosebumps rise in response. They should, but they don't. Another thing wrong with him. The list was becoming too long now to bother with.

Slowly, Katsuki opens his eyes.

"...stop feeling and just do whatever you want," He mutters to the maze of stone and glass stretched out at his feet. A siren rings out in the distance, the wailing of a police car drifting high to catch his ears. "...isn't that right?"

The city has no answer to offer him.

**.**

**.**

**.**

It's alright, in the end.

Katsuki knows how to rip out the truth from the unwilling.

* * *

**Oh boi this chapter took a bit to work out. Demanding but fun~!**

**So the suitcase' contents gets revealed! I'll have a drawing of his villain/vigilante costume at one point up on tumblr if you guys want! I'm learning how to draw for the past year now after not doing it in forever and I think I'm starting to get better at this stuff. At least I hope I am lol.**

**We are finally picking up with the story's main plot, hurray! There's a few things that were foreshadowed in the last two chapters besides this one, I hope you guys will find em. **

**There's a BIG foreshadowing in the prev chapter, I wonder if it's gonna be spotted before the reveal hmm. Hint: look at the bathroom scene and the start of the chapter closely.**

**Anyhow, moving on! **

**Next chapter:**

**Kamino.**


	7. Amongst the Ruins of Kamino

**Weeeeeeee updating this first before Stygian and See, I'm gonna get rekt. **

**Also to those wondering why Bakugo broke so quickly in such a short window of time, well, its not that short of a time window and there's another reason, but saying it is one way to tank the first plotwist of this story lmao. It's already been hinted at, there's like 2 foreshadowings about it.**

**This chapter also has foreshadowing of the second big plot twist, but I don't think you guys will pick up on it. At least not until some time near the reveal.**

* * *

It's been a long time since he'd seen so many of his fellow top heroes together in one place. Faces new and old gathered around him, chatting animatedly as they debated how to best proceed. Some he recognized, others he did not.

Toshinori wished it would be under better circumstances.

At this thought, he couldn't help but let out a quiet exhale, which he tried to hide to the best of his ability to keep the other heroes from noticing.

Essentially, the trap was set. The conference with Vlad, Aizawa and Nedzu was set to grab Japan's attention and with it, hopefully, the villains' as well. The psychological profile the police had built of Shigaraki told them that the criminal wouldn't be able to resist tuning in to listen to the media tear Yuuei apart over neglecting their promise to keep the students safe.

Today, the very reason why Shigaraki had attacked the summer camp would be turned against them -the League's desire to turn the world against heroes would plant the seeds of their downfall.

Toshinori just hoped they would be able to control the fallout.

He tries to pay attention to Naomasa's speech at the forefront of the meeting room, as his friend was going over the plan for one final time. It's a plan they'd gone over several times over the past day and Toshinori could recite each step in his sleep. Still, memorizing the plan did little to quell the tension churning in his gut-

"Focus, you old fool." Endeavor suddenly growls out lowly at his side, the crown of flames flickering around him restlessly, showing his annoyance. "My time is precious. I will not have it wasted by _sentiment_." He wrinkles his nose at this, like he was catching a whiff of a particularly unpleasant smell.

Toshinori doesn't answer with words, throat too tight to respond. Instead he grins apologetically, as if Endeavor had made a funny joke.

In this moment, the smile had never felt more of a mask.

**.**

**.**

**.**

The wall gives away easily.

Voices shout out as Toshinori crashes into the bar, his yelled _smash! _brimming with more ferocity than it was probably necessary. Rubble and bricks crumbles all around him as he lands inside the bar, fist still extended.

He finds the villains scrambling to recover from the surprise attack, their expressions speaking of their confusion at his sudden appearance -signalling that the plan had worked.

It was time to take the next step.

Within moments Kamui Woods is darting overhead, a hand digging into the ceiling while his other arm extends, twisting roots wrapping around the League of Villains members before they could retaliate. The seven criminals trashed in their binds, yelling out their surprise and anger as they fought against Kamui's binds.

Toshinori spies the fire villain Dabi attempting to use his Quirk. He moves to intercept but Gran Torino is faster, tearing through the air like a bullet to drop kick the young man in the head. _Snap._ Instantly the villain went limp, sagging in his bonds.

"Don't do anything foolish, kid." The elder hero proclaimed to the dark haired man. "It's in your best interest to cooperate with us." As he says that, his eyes drifted over to the rest of the captured villains, appraising them with a narrowed gaze.

Shigaraki yells out for the Warp villain, Kurogiri, but just like Gran Torino lunged for Dabi Edgeshot was suddenly there, slicing through the mist-man's torso in a move that sent the criminal crumbling against the bar, limp and unconscious.

Amidst the chaos, Toshinori had only eyes on his student, even as he declares their presence. Bakugo was standing in front of him, wide-eyed and surprised at the sight of him like Toshinori being here was the last thing he was expecting. He looks sweaty and dirty, but relatively unharmed -it's instant relief for the Number One Hero.

_We have you, Bakugo. _Toshinori thinks to himself as he stands up straight, surveilling the villains as Gran Torino gruffly reads out their names and their charges.

In this moment, he felt pride in himself and his co-workers. All had gone according to plan. They had Bakugo, and soon they would be able to restore society's confidence in heroes.

"I am glad to see you safe, young Bakugo!" Striding forward, he reaches his kidnapped student. Resting a hand on the boy's shoulder, he squeezes it for comfort. "You've must've been scared, but you stayed strong. Not to worry now, my student, you're safe now." Toshinori continues, tone bright and determined as his role as the Symbol of Peace demanded him to be.

Still, he hopes that Bakugo picks up on the silent apology. If not, Toshinori had no qualms about meeting his student afterwards and giving him a clearer one.

Surprisingly, the boy doesn't pull away immediately like Toshinori expected, instead regarding him an indescribable emotion on his face. His lips were twitching, as if he was holding back a snarl at Toshinori's attempt at reassuring him.

"S-Shut up!" Bakugo bristles, glaring, taking two steps away from him. There's a small blush on his cheeks as he snaps. "I wasn't scared!" He defends himself, irate.

Toshinori chuckles good naturedly at the outraged declaration. It was reassuring in it's familiarity.

That's good. It meant that the villains hadn't gotten to his student as badly as he feared they would. In and all, Bakugo looked remarkably healthy after spending three days with the villains. Though Toshinori with anger spied a chair on his left that had fallen over during his entrance -the chains on it left little doubt what it was for. Righteous indignation burned away at him at the sight.

Then he turns his attention at the cause of all of this -Shigaraki, who was quietly steaming in Kamui's restrictive roots. The man was eerily silent, baleful red eyes staring right into Toshinori's soul.

Once, those scarlet orbs shifted to Bakugo, and the Number One Hero gritted his teeth at the small smirk the man made at his student. Shifting his body, he stepped in between to shield his charge from the villain's glare.

Bakugo had suffered enough. Toshinori would not allow the pale-haired man to make the teen even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

To do that however, they needed to secure the head of the League. Which meant...

"Shigaraki. Your League has been taken care of. You have nowhere to run or hide." Toshinori speaks lowly, keeping his tone authoritative. The villain's shivering and twitching was getting to him -the man looked like a restless beast waiting to be unleashed, a monster that was a hair's breadth from going on a rampage. The calmer Shigaraki was, the better it would be for everyone else. "It's _over_. For your sake you will tell us where he is right now."

Unfortunately, the pseudo leader of the League of Villains saw it differently. As if he'd been slapped, Shigaraki reels back as far as the bindings allow, snarling like a wild animal.

"Shut up, you lying cheater!" The pale-haired criminal screeches, spit flying from thin, chapped lips. "It's game over when _I_ tell it is." He hisses lowly, lips curled back.

Gran Torino spoke up, huffing roughly. "That's not how things work, young man." The veteran interrupted, narrowing his eyes at the fuming villain.

"_Shut up!" _

"Shigaraki!" Toshinori demanded, taking a step forward. He tried to reign in his temper, but the longer Shigaraki held back the information they needed so desperately, the larger were the chances that the true enemy got away. "You will tell us where he is!"

"Never!" The ensuing shriek the League of Villain leader let out barely sounded human. He trashed in his binds, hands curling into fists at his sides. "_I hate you!"_

The air above Shigaraki's head splits open, black swirling into existence. A dark void that brings with it pale faces, exposed brains and bulging, empty eyes.

All of the heroes startle at the sight; soon there's more portals opening, more Nomu appearing than they could safely handle within the confines of the small establishment. Toshinori hears alarmed shouting behind him from the street, quickly followed by the sound of gunfire and familiar, shrill roaring.

"Damn it Edgeshot!" Gran Torino shouts over the Nomu's screeching. "I thought you-"

"It's not him!" Edgeshot replies before the older hero could finish, his voice a mixture of befuddlement and slowly creeping panic. Toshinori feels his stomach drop at his teammate's tone. "He's still out _-this isn't his doing!"_

And just as the Number Five Hero said that, Bakugo doubles over and starts choking.

In that split second moment, Toshinori is frozen in surprise as the same swirling slime-like substance the Nomu were crawling out of starts spilling from the blond's mouth. Bakugo's eyes were wide and panicked as he reached out towards him, fighting against the black muck swirling around him.

Through the substance, he heard him gurgle out: "_A-All Might-!"_

His cry snaps him out of his stupor. Toshinori lunges forward, but his hands touch nothing. Bakugo is gone, stolen once more -worse so, when his student was _right in front of him_.

"_**NO!"**_

The scream that tears its way out of his throat at the realization is as painful as it is full of anguish.

This wasn't meant to happen!

A series of new splashing sounds bring his attention back to the villains; Toshinori finds with horror that one by one the black muck was taking them away. Stealing them right from their grasp.

Soon the lizard, the magician, the fire-user, the warp villain, the redhead and the man in the black and white suit were gone, leaving only Shigaraki behind. Shigaraki, who was staring up at the Nomu's portal in silence, then slowly tilting his head to look at Toshinori.

Black materialized over the pale haired man's head. It swirled around him, quickly wrapping around the villain.

Toshinori felt his eyes widen. He leaps forward, hand reaching.

_No-! He couldn't -not __**again**__!_

The last thing he saw was Shigaraki's unnerving grin before he was gone as well. Stunned, Toshinori stands there, hand clenched in the air where the villain's head once was. He barely hears Kamui's profuse apologies over the static in his head at the utter failure their plan had devolved into.

"Toshinori!" Gran Torino's sharp bark startles him out of his state of shock. "Focus! What now?!" The elder hero yells out amidst the screams as the Nomu descend upon the police.

"Right!"

The Nomus were still here, but it wasn't Kurogiri's doing. The warp villain had still been unconscious, slumped over against the bar before a black portal had whisked him way.

_He's made a move._

A single, flawless move -now the villains were gone, the Nomu were attacking, and Bakugo had been taken yet again. This time, right in front of Toshinori.

The overwhelming sense of failure _burned_.

He takes it and uses this shame as fuel. One for All crackles around him as he grabs a Nomu by the throat and swings around, roaring: "_Oklahoma Smash!"_

The creatures are blown away, unable to hold on against the violent winds All Might generated. Some are sent flying right out of the bar and into surrounding buildings.

When he steps out of the destroyed bar, he's met with an even worse scene -dozens of Nomu were attacking the policemen outside, who could only defend themselves against the bullet-proof beasts with their riot gear. Their ranks had been completely broken by the sporadic appearance of the genetically modified monsters.

Toshinori could barely hear Naomasa screaming over the chaos, desperately trying to regain control of the situation while the Nomu tore a bloody path through the crowd.

It was all to no avail; the Nomu's appearance had effectively broken the chain of command.

Amongst the horror Endeavor stood out like a sore thumb, bursts of concentrated Hellflame incinerating Nomu after Nomu, the creatures' regeneration unable to keep up with the Quirk-enhanced fire burning their cells to the point of incineration. The policemen around him were scrambling behind the Pro-Hero, ducking under the torrents of orange flames for the Nomu chasing them to take on headfirst.

Upon noticing him, Endeavor snarls. "Move it, old man!" The Number Two Hero hisses as he encinerates another Nomu. The creature's dying screech digs into Toshinori's ears as it's reduced to a smoking, burning carcass. "I'm taking care of these beasts, you focus on doing _your _job! If you're going after them now's the time!"

Somehow, the growled command gives him strength.

"Right. _Right_." Toshinori turns away, towards the plume of smoke and ash he spies in the distance of Kamino Ward. No doubt it was his doing.

Distantly, he hears Gran Torino and Edgeshot charging at the Nomu to give Endeavor some relief, the Number Two Hero struggling to incinerate the creatures without hurting the scattered policemen and avoiding getting hit himself. Toshinori wasn't needed here.

No, his duty lies elsewhere.

With a single leap he takes off, One for All shooting sparks across his weary body.

_Hold on, Bakugo. _

**.**

**.**

**.**

It takes him thirty seconds to get to Kamino.

It's thirty seconds too long; when he descends from the sky he spots All for One standing in front of his minions -in front of Bakugo, who was surrounded by the villains with no way out. The boy was standing back, hunched over and ready to fight a battle that alone, was completely hopeless from the start.

The sight fuels his rage; Toshinori pushes One for All to it's limits as he dives down from the night sky like an avenging angel, fists connecting with his nemesis' palms. All for One barely even buckles under the sudden charge.

The League, however? They scream out in surprise as they're blown away like leafs in the wind.

Over the howling winds, Toshinori calls out to his opponent, staring into the dark, expressionless medical mask the villain had covered his mangled face with. "I'll have you return my student, All for One!"

"Are you, All Might?" The monster answers in a questioning tone full of amusement, ever poised and calm despite how they were locked in combat.

Toshinori _hated _that tone. Suave, persuasive, like he was ten steps ahead of him and Toshinori was blissfully unaware of it. He knew he couldn't let it get to his head -it had cost him dearly last time. He would not make the same mistake again.

A quick scan of the surrounding area makes him take note of Bakugo who sprawled on the ground not even forty feet away, eyes wide as he watched the fight, body rigid. Frozen like a deer in headlights. None of the villains were around him, having been blown away at Toshinori's arrival.

It's an opportunity he takes.

Jumping back, he disengages from All for One and lunges for Bakugo. Surprisingly, his opponent doesn't charge right after him, which he thanked his lucky stars for. A single microsecond is all he needs to pick up the boy with one arm, a tiny outraged _omph!_ leaving the explosive blond's lips at the sudden movement.

"H-hey!" Bakugo flails a bit in his grip, hands pushing against to try and pry Toshinori's arm away. "Are you serious?!"

"Apologies, young Bakugo!" Toshinori replied through gritted teeth, looking at his surroundings for signs of other heroes he could give his student to for evacuation. "But you'll have to bear it for a while longer!"

Bakugo mutters something under his breath, but Toshinori is too busy trying to spot his coworkers. He couldn't find Best Jeanist or Gang Orca, and it sent shivers down his spine.

They were supposed to be here, where were they? Where was Tiger? Did they find Ragdoll?

_(What had All for One done to them?)_

Those of League of Villains who still could were picking themselves up, their eyes fixed on him and his cargo. Shigaraki was one of the first to recover, coming to stand none too far from his master and regarding Toshinori with unusual calmness.

Overhead, the blades of a news helicopter blared. Toshinori doesn't look up to see how close it was to the Kamino ruins; he worries that it might be targeted, but there's no way to tear his gaze away from the villains without risking an attack. Instead, he only has eyes for Shigaraki and All for One. Faceless, motionless, only Shigaraki showed any emotion.

None of them, strangely, were anger or frustration.

If anything, the villain looked faintly satisfied. His red eyes flick upwards to the helicopter above, and then lower back on Toshinori. The Pro-Hero tenses at the flash of yellowed teeth behind the hand mask.

When Shigaraki spoke up next, his rumbled, pleased voice was loud enough to broadcast across the battlefield:

"You had your fun, it's time to stop playing."

At first, Toshinori only registers the cold.

The pain comes after.

He stumbles back, grip slackening as his hands instinctively reach for the source of pain.

Bakugo scampers out of his arms, sliding out like liquid water -dancing out of his reach with a near happy skip and Toshinori didn't understand, _couldn't_, torn between the biting, stinging pain in his side and reaching for his student because the villains were right there, All for One was right there-

-doing nothing, just watching.

None of them were doing anything, in fact. Toshinori's panic dimmed as he registered the League standing several feet away, half-circling him and Bakugo. Those who were conscious simply stood there, examining with sneers on their faces.

There's a wide, toothy grin on Shigaraki's face, so large it was easy to see under the hand-mask of his.

It's almost as big as the rapidly growing red blemish on his suit, courtesy of the stab wound in his side. The blow was dealt to his left flank, where his lung would be had it not been removed years prior. This didn't stop the pain.

Confused, lost, Toshinori lifts his gaze from the bleeding wound to look for his student.

The sight that greets him is one that will haunt him for months to come.

Bakugo was smiling as he stood amongst the ruins of Kamino, an unsettling grin that stretched wide across his face and showed off his pale teeth. It bears none of the familiar anger and challenge Toshinori knows to expect of the boy, none of the fury or determination he'd come to associate with his volatile student.

No, this smile was unhinged and _thrilled_.

The sight sends sharp cold running down his spine. Not too far away, All for One was silently gazing at the scene, unmoving and unfeeling like a great statue. Even then, Toshinori could hear the smile behind that industrial life support mask.

Stomach dropping, he turns back to the blond. Bakugo had straightened up, looking at him curiously, head tilted slightly to the left.

"What's wrong, All Might?" He giggles, _giggles_, and it's so wrong that the cold rises up his spine again, crawling up, digging claws into his heart. "Weren't you going to _save me?"_ The blond continues, tone twisting high with mockery.

Toshinori watches, stunned, as Bakugo waves the knife covered in his blood in front of him, ignoring the splatters that drip onto his clothes. The smile stretched further, somehow, twisting his student's features further into alien territory.

"What are you waiting for?" The not-Bakugo pauses dramatically, breath hitching. His eyelids fall halfway, shadowing vibrant red eyes that look so much like his student's but weren't.

Then, Bakugo's face starts melting.

Toshinori takes a step back as he watches his student's skin fall off his body, melting into a pale substance that pooled at his feet. The boy -the _being_, because that was not _Bakugo- _became slightly taller and thinner, sharp waist giving away to rounder curves and svelte figure.

The smile stayed, even when the last of Bakugo Katsuki's face melted away and left Himiko Toga behind.

"_**Come on then, save me!"**_

**.**

**.**

**.**

Halfway across the city, Aizawa could only watch as their plan crumbled into pieces from the safety of the Yuuei conference room.

The reporters all around him were frozen still in their seats, as were the staff members they'd previously been drilling for answers. Even ever impassive and unmoving Nedzu was silent, his dark beady eyes never betraying the emotions the principal was feeling. The prickly, raised pale fur however -that told another story to someone like Aizawa, who knew the principal for years.

No one even dared to breathe, Aizawa least of all.

For the moment he saw Himiko Toga standing there in Bakugo's clothes, smiling for the whole world to see -that's when his stomach lurched and he knew, right there and then, that this would not end with a win, not even a draw.

They had lost, long before the battle ended.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Hand on his side, stifling the wound, Toshinori was numb to the pain. At least, the physical one, for something much worse was taking over him.

Pure, undiluted panic and terror.

Because if Himiko was here _where was Bakugo?_

(What had they done to him?)

Himiko Toga wasted no time, her laughter cruel and loud over the sounds All for One's wrath had brought upon Kamino. Her arms were still spread out, knife glinting in her right hand, blood steadily dripping at its tip.

"Oh god!" She howled, practically doubling over laughing. The black pants and shirt were baggy on her frame, too baggy, nearly falling off her slim figure where they did not _belong- _" Too busy charging forward to pay attention, Mr. Hero?!"

Fury stirs in his heart at her shrill, mocking laughter.

"Where's -"

"...you should see your face, All Might."

Toshinori freezes. The boiling rage dims and flickers.

"The fear. The confusion. The desperation." All for One continues, his suave voice just as chilling as he remembered it to be. "...you didn't even wait and contemplate why Miss Himiko wasn't at the bar." The villain tuts softly, as if he was reprimanding a child and not the man who had nearly killed him years ago. "Reckless."

Toshinori grits his teeth, but he can't say anything. The words remain lodged at the back of his throat.

All for One doesn't have that problem however, continuing on:

"...the same recklessness that brought Yuuei to station their prized students out in the middle of nowhere, with only six heroes to protect them."

The casual insult hidden behind the statement made Toshinori flinch and bristle, anger boiling under his skin at the man's amusement. Of course All for One find the situation delightful, the monster thrived on hurting others.

He practically lived off their suffering.

And it was that very knowledge is what made Toshinori straighten out and raise his fists, readying himself.

No matter how wrong things had gone, no matter his injuries, no matter what _he _felt -it didn't erase the screams he hears of those trapped in the rubble, or the whistle of the helicopter's blades over his head. The world was watching. People needed to be saved.

He still had an opponent to face.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"-oh, and Shigaraki Tomura? He's Nana Shimura's grandson!"

All for One's cruel declaration is another dagger into his body, another blow that makes him buckle and scream out and break all over again.

But something holds him back. Something, small and weak but there, keeps him from buckling further, from letting that massive fist crush him into a paste into the ruins of Kamino.

It was All for One's own words, rattling in his skull.

'_Izuku Midoriya! He's the one you entrusted One for All to, correct?'_

The monster knew about his student. He knew about Midoriya. He was going to come after his boy next.

_He could not fail another._

The exhaustion dims, eaten away by raw, animal desperation of what the future ahead would be if Kamino became his grave. What this _monster _would do once he was gone.

And with that, he finds his resolve. Even the pain of the wound on his side fades from his mind.

_I cannot die._

**.**

**.**

**.**

So he doesn't.

All for One is crumpled underneath him, sprawled on the ground like a broken doll. He's still breathing; Toshinori can hear the wheezed, pained breaths he takes while unconscious, a breathing rhythm that betrayed the villain's health.

In that moment, Toshinori looks down at the pieces that were left of this man, this monster who had taken so much and sacrificed so very little for the amount he'd stolen, and he found him unexpectedly _human _in his vulnerability.

Then he hears the roar of the helicopter's blades above him, and Toshinori realizes numbly that it didn't matter in the end.

This didn't change the outcome.

This was still a loss, and knowing this felt like his remaining lung was torn right out of him.

Toshinori doesn't have the strength to hold his fist to the sky, to do shout out his victory, to do anything -he can barely stand, barely hold himself up in this worn, crippled form he was now forever locked in.

Maybe in another world, he would have something left.

Maybe in that world, he would have held up a clenched fist to the sky one last time, would have addressed the world -would have _warned _his successor that it was his time to take the crown, that he could no longer shield him from the darkness of the world. That All Might was gone but there was still a future ahead, one Midoriya Izuku would have to protect.

Tell him, in the same breath as he reassures the world, that it was his turn.

Instead, he stands there, swaying, until the ground rushes up to meet him.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Toshinori wakes to a white ceiling and the beginning of a setting sun gracing his face.

His body aches with the pain he'd come to associate when he overuses his Quirk, but there was one key difference. One that made him slowly sit up on the bed and stare down at his thin, emaciated hands, a feeling of loss carving its way inside his body and settling in his heart.

He could not feel it residing within himself anymore.

_One for All is truly gone, T_oshinori realizes with a pang of distress.

It was all up to Midoriya Izuku now.

The sound of a door opening makes him slowly drags his gaze away from his permanently skeletal hands to the newcomer. Toshinori feels a bit of relief at the sight of a familiar worn, wrinkled face.

Gran Torino makes no sound as he walks into the room and takes a seat on the small chair next to his bed. The veteran hero looked horrible, a series of bandages covering his right eye where Toshinori's aborted punch had landed, courtesy of All for One's trickery. He was wearing a thick wool coat and a scarf; never before had Toshinori seem him look so worn, or frail.

Just like him, though better. Gran Torino carried his age with dignity; over sixty and still going strong, while Toshinori could barely push his forties without croaking. And now he was out of role permanently.

There was no way he could continue being a hero. It was over, and this knowledge made him want to scream -that is, if it didn't feel like a black hole where his stomach should be, empty and dark and so very heavy.

But not as heavy as the question that slowly surfaces in his mind, alongside memories of the battle.

The flash of a knife. A stretching, unnatural smirk that clashed with the face of its bearer. Skin rippling and melting away, revealing yellow eyes, sharp canines and feminine features.

All of the sudden, his loss of One for All seemed insignificant in the face of this memory.

Hesitant, he asks quietly. "...Bakugo?"

Gran Torino doesn't speak up, at first.

The long stretch of silence makes Toshinori's heart 't be...if his old teacher wasn't answering, a man who had seen the worst the world had to offer, then what did that mean for...

"We are scouring the remains of Kamino." The veteran begins quietly. He levels his single visible eye to meet his. "Everyone did. I'm sorry Toshinori. So far, he hasn't been found."

Hasn't been found.

Toshinori exhales, and with it what little hope that had been left in him departs at well.

"Oh." He murmurs, very quiet. "I see."

Silence.

This time when the overwhelming sense of failure washed over him, it felt more final. An inevitable door closing on a last chapter.

Nausea swam in his guts.

He should have been faster. Should have been stronger. At the bar he had One for All, he didn't have All for One to face -he only had one goal, one worry. Getting Bakugo.

But he failed.

* * *

**Oh boi writing this was fun and a pain at once. Through the first scene I lay some hints that Toga wasn't there in the bar and there was something going on. Hope some of you guys noticed : D**

**PS: I might include it later cuz character development, but anyone want to see Kamino from Izuku's point of view?**

**Next Chapter:**

**There's a series of strange deaths that leaves the police stumped. In other news, Aizawa ponders on his students' progress despite the hardship they'd gone through.**

**...and halfway across Japan, Katsuki kills people and eats some cookies. In that order.**


	8. Reflections

**I'm legit stuck on the last scene for the next Stygian Fire update and its so frustrating . You guys are prob hating me for the lack of updates, I apologize ;m;**

* * *

The sun bears down on his shoulders, melting the snow that had gathered on top of his head and coat. Despite the discomfort he keeps moving forward, ducting and twisting through the small gathered crowd to reach his target.

Thankfully, the other policemen had been quick to establish a barrier a few feet away, so he has no trouble reaching it.

At the sight of him one of the men steps away towards him, but he holds up his badge and he's free to continue on. The only obstacle left in front of him was a thick yellow tape. Even from here, he can see and _smell _his target, and he has to bite down on the urge to grimace at the ghastly sight.

Six years and he'll never get used to this.

Inhaling softly, he ducks under the yellow tape and advances towards the crime scene.

"What do we have here?" He calls out softly, ignoring the buzzing from the crowd behind him.

Green eyes blinked, snapping up from the body on the ground to look at him. Ishida Taura smiled fondly at the sight of the haggard man. It's quickly replaced by a faint scowl however.

"Niwa! You're late." She chides him, narrowed eyes staring at him expectantly.

Niwa Yoichi shrugs, offering his partner a small grimace as he adjusted his badly lopsided tie.

"Traffic." He muttered, waving her worries away while he struggles with the piece of garment around his neck. "There was another fight at the main street of the Jinsei Market. Someone blew a hole right in the middle of the street with an acid Quirk so I had to take a detour."

_There was no way I would have sat there in my car until they got someone with the right Quirk or a few workers to fix the road. _And that was true. From what he'd seen in his spot between a particularly large van and a taxi, that street section was just _gone_.

One of the policemen overhearing the conversation coughed. "Again?" The blond man exclaimed, disbelieving. "But there's three agencies _plus _a police station near there?!"

"Doesn't matter." Ishida mutters, voice dipping. "Nowadays some people just don't care enough to think about the consequences."

Niwa winces internally at this.

While it was ugly, it ultimately was the truth.

With the skyrocketing rates of crime, violence and vigilantism going around, the hero agencies were swamped trying to maintain the order of the law against a growing crowd of people who were using their Quirks carelessly to do what they wanted.

And policemen like himself were the footsoldiers. Niwa lost count of the times his patrols were stopped or his days off were cancelled due to incidents. The time he'd gone from laying around on his couch half-asleep while watching an old show to scrambling out the door to answer the frantic calls of a coworker who found themselves in between two Quirk users going from shouting to fighting was ridiculous.

Nowadays, his rare days off were less and less used for resting and more to be on call if he was needed.

It was harrowing, and Niwa was certain that he wasn't the one at his wit's end about this. Especially after witnessing his fellow policemen's growing eyebags and how quickly the coffee machines at the office had to be refilled.

Already there was talk of increasing the communication between agencies and stations, even the potential addition of enhanced Quirk training for policemen qualified for it; many more ideas were being tossed around over their heads, some stupid while others flat out suicidal. Someone even mentioned imposing martial law, but everyone saw how _that _would go down with a already frazzled public so it was quickly shot down.

At this point, he just wanted it to be over with. Things weren't the same after Kamino. It will take a long, long time before it ever would.

Shaking those terrible thoughts away, Niwa focuses on what he could do: this current case.

And there was a lot he could draw from what he was seeing.

The man in front of him was very much dead, sprawled on the cold asphalt ground of the sidewalk. Blood pooled around the body, dark and crusty; dry, at least an hour had passed since then. What really caught Niwa's attention however was the killing blow.

...or at least, what had to be the killing blow, because there was no way this man could survive being bisected.

Shoulders, head and neck were divided neatly from the rest of the body; Niwa spied the white of a spine through the pink of organs and the slush that was half-frozen blood. There was no laceration to the gaping wound, no irregular cuts to the skin and flesh as far as Niwa could see.

The truth was clear, despite the improbability of it. This damage was all done with one blow.

...what a horrifying thought.

_Strength Quirk? Some kind of blade Quirk? There's no way a tool can do that…._

"...any thoughts on what could have happened?"

There's no response from his usual chatterbox of a partner. He shifts his gaze from the body to his companion of three years. Ishida wasn't looking at him, her light green eyes instead tilted upwards.

Niwa follows her line of sight, curious.

The building the man had died in front of was some sort of factory. The edges of the roof were all irregular and worn down with age but one specific section caught Niwa's attention immediately -the section that just happened to be right above the corpse they were investigated.

The edge was odd there. As in, there was a giant break in the stone border, and the irregularity combined with how much fine bits were still hanging on made it look recent. Very recent.

_Yesterday was a snowstorm,_ Niwa thinks darkly. _Those pieces should have been blown away._

Now that he looked down and was more careful, the man found that there were a few bits of stone on the snow-ridden floor. They'll have to bag it and test it back in the labs for sure, but Niwa was certain they'd match the composition of the roof's border.

"So the killer came from there." He murmurs after a moment. Ishida is already ahead, rapidly scribbling her notes down on her notepad with speed he could only dream of achieving. "Dropped down, probably used his momentum to add to the killing blow."

Niwa took a moment to imagine it. The killer dropping down like a meteorite, likely using the momentum of their fall to bisect their victim in half.

Savage.

Effective, but savage.

Had to be premeditated in a way.

In that moment, he couldn't help but remember the nature documentaries he watches when he's especially tired and too worn out to work on cases. Specifically those on bird of prey; he'd never forget the clip of a falcon fearlessly diving down with enough speed to instantly break the neck of the duck it was hunting.

This murder was eerily similar, although with a lot more blood.

What kind of person were they dealing with?

"Brutal." His partner muttered at his side. Ishida was noting down their findings, brows scrunched up together. She glances over at him, her small nose wrinkled. Niwa knew it wasn't from the stench. There was much, much worse out there than a fresh dead body spilling blood and organs across a street. "Poor bastard never saw it coming."

Then she looks back at the body, and frowns.

Niwa waits, but she seems to be caught in another of her staring contests -she's even doing that odd little squinted frown that makes her look like she has some sort of pug dog Quirk. Now, while Niwa had no problem waiting for her to finish her thought process, he was also very cold and pretty certain he's forgotten to put on his left sock.

God damn it.

"What is it?" He asks, shifting on his feet. Yep. He'd forgotten his sock. The cold was creeping in much faster through that shoe than the other.

Great. At least the missing item wasn't his tie -the boss couldn't get on his ass about dress code violation if he couldn't see it.

As an answer to his question, Ishida points at her finding still lodged in the man's waist. The handle of a small handgun was jammed into the pants of the victim, barely visible. Niwa raised a brow at the sight.

A premeditated attack on an armed man? This changed things; reframed the incident as a whole. Guns as a whole were highly regulated, almost as much as Quirks. Something told Niwa that there was very little chance that this man was a cop.

"He was expecting trouble." Niwa hears himself say, voicing out what his partner was likely thinking.

Ishida taps a finger against her lower lip, thoughtful. "An armed, well dressed man killed in a place like this?"

They all pause and look at the body. There wasn't much of the face left visible due to the blood splatter unfortunately, so they were stuck staring at part of a bisected chest.

It's Ishida who pipes up, breaking the silence. "We'll run him through the criminal database."

With little else to say, the dup step away when the forensics come to take the body and the rest of the evidence. Niwa lets Ishida direct them, his own attention elsewhere.

Aimlessly, his eyes drift to the crowd held back by police and red tape.

He looks back at the corpse. The sprawled position, the expression of mild shock mixed with indifference. The way the body was dropped on the floor, arms almost tucked to the side, legs straight. The pool of dark, crusty, dry blood around the severed shoulders.

Finally, his gaze shifts upwards, to the building next to the body. His eyes lock on to the broken section of the edge of the roof that Ishida pointed out.

_'Poor bastard never saw it coming.'_

Niwa shudders, suddenly feeling the urge to leave the scene early, unable to shake off the feeling of something watching from the shadows, stalking silently in the dark.

Something quiet and ugly and cold, a viper waiting to strike again.

He was being crazy.

This was just another case of Quirk violence. He'd seen far too much of those the past few months since Kamino.

It shouldn't unsettle him as much as it did.

"You alright?" Ishida asks when they finally head towards the barrier later on, her steps just as quick as his. Evidently, she was as eager to get away from the corpse sprawled on the blood soaked-snow.

Niwa shakes his head softly. "I'm good." He pauses, swallowing as he ducks under the barrier and his partner follows suit. "It's just ...to do that, whoever did this has to be a monster."

**.**

**.**

**.**

He stuffs the cookie into his mouth, chewing thoughtlessly on the soft treat as he wipes the crumbs off on his baggy pants before reaching for his gloves again. He snaps them on then grabs the grenadier gauntlet, flipping it over once more to resume his work.

Sliding his arm through the bracer, he yanks on the lever inside then pulls back, forcing the secondary mechanism to activate.

There's a loud _click _as the mounted blade pops off, slipping onto his lap. Taking the weapon by the hidden handle that would allow them to be used on their own, he lifts it off himself and sets it aside, resting it amongst the rest of his equipment.

Katsuki turns his attention back to his gauntlet. Specifically, the mounting mechanism, which he examines closely for specks of debris stuck between the parts. There's plenty of blood there, rust red and dark under the lights of the living room, but he's more concerned about potential rocks or bone shards. He'd hit the ground pretty hard in his descent last night and while he'd reached his goal, he hadn't had the time to clean his equipment properly.

Finding somewhere to relocate was difficult.

_Well, not in the literal sense,_ Katsuki thinks as he shifts his gaze to the right, where the living room gives away to a door frame leading to the kitchen. From this angle, he can only see a single, pale hand resting on the floor.

There's blood splattered on the ground, and his shirt is on the floor, abandoned after an arterial spray caught most of his chest and ruined the clothes. He'd yet to put on another, too preoccupied with checking his gauntlets.

Hm. Blinking, he turns back to his work.

Cleaning the blades this regularly wasn't needed, but Katsuki couldn't afford the risk of them getting damaged or the smell of rot attracting unwanted attention. Most of the day his equipment was stored inside the metal suitcase to avoid getting stopped -a case that he'd pulled apart first chance he had, checked every inch for trackers or other devices before putting it back together.

He'd even been able to stuff in there a second change of clothes and some toiletries, which was pretty useful. Katsuki's not sure how things would work out if he had to bounce around the houses of criminals he's killed while carrying several bags on him. Just the suitcase was enough of a problem as it was, as he was forced to hide it on rooftops or other places unreachable by normal means when he went out scouting for new targets.

After a few minutes of clearing out the mounting mechanism, Katsuki sets aside the rag he was using.

Satisfied, he looks over it one last time before grabbing the blade again, cleaning it dutifully, then popping it back onto the gauntlet and pressing until there's a loud _clang _that signaled that the locking mechanism had activated.

Picking up the gauntlet, Katsuki puts it on. He feels metal clamp down on his wrist and forearm and satisfied, he tests his equipment, retracting and extending the blade to make sure it did not get stuck. Using the blades was becoming more and more familiar to him as time went on, and Katsuki had taken the gauntlets apart enough times to memorize how each component worked.

Sometimes though, especially when he handles the empty nitroglycerin chamber he can't help but hold it for the longest time, caught up in the sight of the dark grey cylinder. It's a curious reaction, but he can't avoid it.

He'd done this _before_. Katsuki is sure of it.

Packing the equipment into the metal suitcase, Katsuki brushes his clothes off and stands up.

He enters the kitchen.

As he makes his way to the fridge, he steps over the body splayed on the ceramic floor. Rigor mortis had started to set in, rendering the corpse of the gun dealer he'd killed as stiff as a board.

Speaking of…

Red eyes watch as their owner opens one of the larger cupboards. Inside there was no food, but instead a small assortment of dark grey metal items that are very familiar, given their shape.

Katsuki takes a revolver, two of the smaller compact handguns and gives the shotgun tucked on the side a passing glance of curiosity before he returns to the living room-

He pauses mid-way through the hallway, startled.

Frowning, he takes a step back.

On the other side of the room was a wall length mirror, and his reflection was once again in its frame. It's when he sees himself in it once more that he pauses, eyes catching sight of something he hadn't noticed before.

Leaving the guns on the floor Katsuki slowly strides forward, standing in front of the mirror. Examining his long, shoulder-length hair that stuck up in messy puffs of pale, almost bleached blond hair as if the color had been taken out of them, his red eyes, and the vibrant red scars curled over the arch of his cheekbones.

Then he twists around, turning his back to the mirror to look at what had caught his attention.

Tilting his upper body, he looks at his reflection as he runs his hand over the scar tissue. Dots, cradled in the middle of his back and running down his spine, getting smaller and smaller until they stopped just below the curve of his hips, which was pronounced by the lack of fat or muscle.

He purses his lips for a moment, running his fingers down the marks. They're rough against his skin and almost looked inflamed.

Just like the scars on his cheekbones.

Abruptly, Katsuki turns away from the mirror and strides away, picking up his guns and plopping down amidst his equipment. From this angle however he can still see himself on that floor length mirror, and it sparks something within Katsuki.

Irritation.

On a whim he picks up one of the handguns he'd taken from the kitchen and aims it at the mirror, pointing the weapon at his reflection's heart. Katsuki pauses, contemplating the sight. The narrow shape of his own eyes, the shaggy, wild mess of his hair. The pronounced sharpness of his chin. The faint outline of ribs on almost ashen skin.

Slowly, he shifts the weapon up to aim at his reflection's head, right between the two dead, dark red eyes. He stays there for a moment, staring.

Then he presses the trigger.

_Click._

Empty.

Katsuki grins, but it feels empty and dead on his lips.

**.**

**.**

**.**

He frowns at the paper in front of him, befuddled. The _**B+**_ atop of the document, even put there by himself, still surprised him.

_Kaminari studied this time, _Aizawa thinks as he takes the next assignment from the pile he has to grade and return to his students tomorrow. _Good. Seems like he found a way to retain study material._

About time in his opinion, as the boy had been struggling with his grades since the start of the first semester. There's a small burst of content pride at the grade, but it slowly ebbed away when he remembered why, exactly, the electric blond was making more effort.

All of his students were doing so, in their own way.

Aizawa shakes his head. Placing Kaminari's work on the finished pile, the underground hero turns to the latest test in front of him. He was nearly done with his work, only five more to go and he would be free to sleep until the time for his patrol hit at 11:00 PM.

A quick glance at the clock mounted on the wall tells him it's 9:04.

If he's fast enough, maybe he can catch at least an hour of sleep. Revitalized by this merry thought, Aizawa lifts his hand once more, snags his red pen from the desk and reads the name on top of the document.

_Midoriya Izuku._

The tip of the pen hovers over the paper, pausing, if only for a moment.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. _

The clock on the wall ticks on, above his head, grating. Aizawa purses his lips and gets to work.

The grading goes as expected. Another A+ for Midoriya. Upon setting his pen to rest once more, Aizawa stares down at the test sheet, re-reading the answers again. It was a long paragraph test on Hero Politics, just a few questions but plenty of work had to be done if the students wanted a top grade.

By all means, Midoriya's work was acceptable.

But even then, the assignments he turned in had lost.._something_ to them. An edge, a subtle brilliance that betrayed the boy's enthusiasm for the subject he's assigned to work on. Midoriya was doing very well, yes, still far up in the class' rankings, but it just wasn't the same. The recent Yakuza raid hadn't helped matters.

Aizawa couldn't fault him however.

No one had taken Bakugo's kidnapping as badly as Midoriya. His grief was palpable in everything he did.

This same grief was present in a lot of the other students. Kamino had cast a blanket over their heads, a weight that could not be removed. _It's reality,_ Aizawa tried to tell himself more than once. _They've been slapped in the face with a dose of reality. _

What hero work _really _entailed.

And in a way, that was the crux of it. Boiled down to its bare, real-life roots, heroism was just another line of work like being a policeman or a soldier, just as bloody and draining. This meant that not everyone was saved. Not every case was solved. Not every plan is executed to the letter.

_Not everyone was found._

This sudden, stray thought makes his hands twitch -and he loses control of his cup, the lukewarm cup slipping between his fingers before he can regain his grip. Aizawa winces at the coffee spilling across his desk.

_Fuck._

It had soaked his documents. Bakugo's student file was sticking to the newspaper under it that Present Mic had dropped off this morning on his desk on a whim. Aizawa could see the written page through his missing student's file, the translucence granted by the coffee letting him see the article on the Kamino Villain's rampage.

_They couldn't just let it go, can they?_ He thinks sourly as he tries to carefully lift Bakugo's file out of the mess. He really doesn't want to reprint it, again.

For his troubles the paper rips down the middle and the upper half of the document with Bakugo's picture stays stubbornly stuck to the Kamino article. Great. There was something ironic in this, but Aizawa was too tired to really contemplate what this latest cosmic joke on him was.

Frustrated, he picks up the entire mess -disregarding how the coffee seeped from the paper to his skin- walked over to the trashcan and dumped the lot of soaked coffee-soaked documents into the trash bin with a bit more force than necessary.

It's at that moment that he hears the door to the first year teachers' room open. Aizawa hisses out a quiet breath as he turns around to look at the newcomer.

Hizashi stares back, blinking.

"I was going to say good day, but huh, yeah." The man let out an awkward cough. "Yesh, Shouta if you keep up like that you're going to throw something out the window."

Aizawa regards him for a moment, then turns back to his desk. "Good." He mutters. "Recovery Girl mentioned I needed some form of stress relief."

"R-right." Hizashi coughs into his hand. "Huh, have you seen All Might?"

"Yagi is not on campus." Aizawa responds easily, keeping his eyes on his papers. "He's heading for a visit to Tartarus. If you have anything to say to him, leave him a message or drop it off on his desk. He won't be back until tomorrow."

There's silence. Hizashi doesn't speak; Aizawa can feel his uneasiness. Still, he says nothing, preferring to keep working. Midoriya's test is set aside on the graded pile and he picks up another. The mess at the edge of the table is disregarded for now.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. _

The clock on the wall ticks on, ever present and unmoved by the palpable tension in the room.

Hizashi suddenly releases a sigh; Aizawa looks up in time to see him shuffle back towards the door. "Right. That." Then there's a mumbled mutter from the other Pro-Hero, so low Aizawa nearly didn't catch it; "...I tried to forget about it." Then, louder, an abashed voice that was meant to be heard. "I...I'll leave the guy a message. Thanks for telling me."

This brings a ghost of a wry grin on Aizawa's lips.

Forget about this? About the Kamino Villain? The man was the most talked about thing second to the Nomu attacks and the numerous disappearances that had been plaguing parts of Japan.

Even more attention was on the villain since the media had caught wind of the fact there had been talks about moving the villain to a more secure location, apart from the massive sprawling prison. Something about declining health and safety risk?

Aizawa didn't really care about the details, for once. If he had his way, the man would be dragged out behind a shack and a bullet would be put between his eyes.

It would be a lot more cost effective.

As far as Aizawa was concerned, keeping that monster alive was all for the sake of the image the government was desperately trying to maintain. To keep a sense that there was justice and good in the world, and that with the Hero Commission graciously trying everything to keep the Kamino Villain alive there was still some faith in heroes.

_But that was when All Might was here, _Aizawa thinks as Hizashi greets him goodbyes and leaves out the door in a slumped shuffle. _The era of the Symbol of Peace is over. _

_It's time to move on and make the most of this new world._

...a small, discreet part of Aizawa that was not as much of a cynic had to wonder if there will ever be someone who would take over that role.

* * *

**Might as well just throw a good few foreshadowings this chapter. The hunt is on lovelies!**

**Introducing some OCs because tbh, as much as I wanted to use Naomasa as the detective for that case, that poor guy is stuck with the League investigation and it would be too coincidental and lazy to throw him in like that. That doesn't mean we won't see detective boi later on -trust me we will. Just not right now. I got plans for him no worries : )**

**These two characters are also a good way to see how society is changing as a result of the Kamino incident. There will be a few of these characters throughout this story, but they will mainly serve as insights into how things are going. Think of it as a supporting cast. The main light is always going to be on the canon characters, but these guys will have their own minor roles too.**

**Next chapter:**

**You guys are finally getting that Midoriya POV and some insight into how Class 1-A is doing. Also there's going to be the first media rumbling about the vigilante murders...as well as the first real fight.**

**Spoilers: Bakugo has no fucking chill.**


	9. The Failed Mimic

Screaming. Crying. Rumbling and creaks echoed through the heated air as buildings barely held themselves up, their structures beaten and battered nearly to their limits. Fires kept burning away, the crackle of their flames overpowering the cries of those trapped within the crumbling buildings.

Those were the sounds that permeated the remains of Kamino Ward -sounds that were not there mere moments ago.

Now there were just broken buildings and broken bodies.

He pressed himself further against the wall. He feels his heart going crazy in his chest. His legs are shaking. It takes all of his will to keep himself from sinking down to the floor and collapsing from shock.

Kirishima, Iida, Todoroki and Yayorozou were in a similar situation. From the corner of his eye Izuku can see the way Yayorouzo is hunched over, hand pressed tight over her mouth to resist the urge to throw up. Kirishima is staring blankly at the wall in front of him, face as pale as freshly fallen snow.

They're all pinned to the wall by the fear gripping their souls, the terror of how quickly things had gone bad sinking down into their stomach like a lead anvil.

Best Jeanist wasn't making noises anymore. Izuku heard him talking to All for One for a moment, exchanged words full of fury and righteous determination that had the tiniest part of him that wasn't frozen in terror feel a mediocre sense of courage.

"A hero doesn't believe in excuses!"

Then there was a sudden breeze; the sound of wind blowing by like that of a train speeding through a station. A wet-sounding smack that had acidic bile rising at the back of Izuku's throat.

And then? Silence.

Long, prolonged silence, broken only by the groaning of buildings, the cries of trapped victims and the flames slowly consuming Kamino.

Izuku can't dare to look. They are trapped behind this thin, brittle brick wall, only feet away from the most dangerous villain in Japan. There was no way out without being discovered.

What could they do? What could _he _even do? This was all his fault, he'd agreed with Kirishima and Todoroki, he'd helped them along, if he didn't get them out of here, if All for One **saw **them, they were all dead-

"What the hell?!"

A new sound was coming from behind them, grabbing his attention. At his side, Kirishima jolts up, eyes widening in recognition and terror as they met Izuku's. He finds himself sharing those emotions, the familiarity of that voice sending him into a whole new realm of terror.

Disregarding the dangers, Izuku gathered what little strands of courage that had risen up within himself and peaked through a tear in the wall. He feels his heart skipping a beat when he saw who was there.

Kacchan was standing a few feet away from All for One, coughing into his hands as he unsteadily rises to his feet. He didn't appear injured or scuffled, which sent a wave of relief through Izuku -one that is quickly swallowed up by the vast expanse of terror filling his soul.

"Disgusting!" The blond whines indignantly as he spits out something black and viscous to the ground. "What was that?"

_Oh god, Kacchan, no,_ Izuku finds himself thinking, horrified. _Run. Run for once in your life!_

The words never leave his lips, sealed shut by fear.

He wants to rush forward, to burst through this wall and reach Kacchan. Drag him if necessary, take him away from the monster that had nearly killed his mentor and just decimated half a district in one blow. But his legs are frozen, his feet rooted to the ground by fear and dread at the knowledge that this ancient villain was mere _feet _away from them.

Just like the Summer Camp, Izuku is useless.

All for One's chilling chuckle has ice crawling up his spine. "My apologies." The man says politely to his captive, and Izuku is thrown by the politeness of his tone -the very same tone he'd used on Jeanist moments before… "Where is he?"

_Huh?_

Kacchan makes a face; it's something between a sneer and something else, something that Izuku had never seen on his face that makes the blond's cheeks flush and something wild spark in his eyes.

The wrongness throws Izuku on a loop.

"Won't be long now." The explosive teen tells All for One with that shark-like grin. It was almost the smile he used in training while beating one of his classmates -preferably Izuku- into the ground, but again there was something wrong with it, an off feeling squirming in Izuku's chest that had him digging his fingers into the brick wall with the urge to do something.

Kacchan wouldn't normally be this civil. He was usually so loud, so angry, so expressive-

But this was not.

...was he scared? Like an injured animal, he was baring his teeth and hiding his weaknesses behind a mask? That would be something Kacchan would do.

If he could just get to him while All for One was distracted...

Just as he thinks that, black sludge materializes in the air. Writhing and squirming unnaturally, the liquid spits out figures Izuku recognized instantly. His stomach lurched once more.

The rest of the League had arrived.

Some of them were on the ground, unconscious; they were quickly pocketed by the villain with the top hat using that strange quirk that had snatched Kacchan away right under his nose. The other circled like sharks, eyeing All for One and Kacchan.

Oddly enough, the blonde girl was missing. It's a quick, passing thought in Izuku's mind, fleeting in the face of the situation he and his classmates were with. All for One was-

Then he came.

All Might came down from the sky like an avenging angel, roaring as he collided with All for One in a tremendous crash that had the hair at the back of Izuku's neck standing on end.

A gust of wind crashes into the wall they were hiding behind, nearly sending him to the floor as the ground shook beneath them. Kirishima let out a muffled sound of terror at his side, the taller boy digging hardened fingers into brick in an attempt to quell his fear as they stood there, mere feet away from the beginning of a battle between titans.

When Izuku could peer through the gap in the wall again, he felt some of his fear evaporate.

All Might had Kacchan, the blond squirming and complaining in a familiar way from under the Pro-Hero's arm. Izuku feels a burst of relief -but it quickly turns into worry when he realized there was no way his teacher would be able to get Kacchan out of there without fighting the whole of the League and All for One at once. Something Izuku knew he wouldn't be able to do.

Not while carrying Kacchan.

Maybe this is when he can jump in-

"Toshinori!" A voice called out in the distance, familiar but not quite close enough for Izuku to recognize. Toshinori? Only one person he knew called his mentor-

Then All for One's smooth, eerily polite voice echoed through the battlefield, whipping every single one of Izuku's thoughts away:

"You had your fun, it's time to stop playing."

Suddenly All Might stumbles, back bending forward, the arm holding Kacchan slackening enough to make the blond's feet scrape the ground. Izuku lets out a strangled sound at the way his mentor's eyes widen, surprise and numb shock taking over his face. What was-

Then Kacchan slithers out of the hero's grasp like water, exposing a great, spreading pattern of red on All Might's left side.

Izuku's blood runs cold.

Someone gasps at his side, but it's a distant sound compared to the static filling his head.

His gaze is fixed on the bleeding wound and how All Might's hand grew red from how he rested his palm against the wound in a feeble attempt to quench the bleeding. His teacher's eyes stared down at his body, then shifted forwards -and Izuku's own gaze follows, ending up on a familiar person.

Or at least, Izuku thought they would be familiar.

Because there was nothing familiar about how Kacchan was smiling.

"What's wrong, All Might?" Kacchan's voice rises above the sounds of creaking buildings, the blast of helicopter blades and the desperate cries of those trapped inside the ruins of Kamino. "Weren't you going to save me?" He continues, voice higher than normal, losing that familiar roughness that Izuku had long associated with his childhood friend.

But this wasn't Kacchan's voice anymore; it was a twisted, high pitched mockery of one, too far away from the real thing to be recognizable. To be him.

As that horrible thought comes through Izuku's mind like a speeding train, Kacchan brandishes the long knife high, ignoring the splatter of blood on his dark clothing -the very same clothing he'd worn in the Summer Camp.

But as that grin grows and grows and grows, turning into something unhinged and feral, something hungry and inhuman, there's a seam that forms in Izuku's mind.

One half of him wanted to rush forward with One for All, take Kacchan and run as far and as fast as he can with his still healing injuries. The other wants to grimace and twist away.

"What are you waiting for? Hmm." Kacchan's half-lidded eyes seemed playful, the expression deepening as his gaze lingered on the weapon he was holding.

Wait, the knife!

Suddenly all of Izuku's attention is on that glistening silver blade. Why would Kacchan hold a knife that was covered...in...All Might was holding his…

Izuku felt his heart stutter when he caught sight of something red seeping through the familiar blue, yellow and white suit of his mentor. All Might's hunched posture and wide, shocked expression only cemented it.

No….

Some part of him suddenly went haywire, rising up in a storm of cries of explanations and theories in front of the impossibility of what just happened. Kacchan wouldn't -not of his own volition. They might have grown apart over the years but Izuku grew up with the blond. He would never do something like this.

There was no way Bakugo Katsuki would **ever **raise his hand towards All Might.

But he's doing that right now, isn't he? A voice whispers inside his head, piping up from the dark corners of his mind. And despite how much he hated that thought, it was ran true.

As true as the blood dripping between his teacher's fingers.

As true as the blood sliding across the sharp edge of Kacchan's knife.

The more he stared at the blood, the fainter Izuku found himself feeling. That wasn't Kacchan. Kacchan wouldn't say that - Kacchan wouldn't **do** that-

Then it happens.

Kaccahn's face starts melting, liquifying skin turning pale colorless -falling in clumps around him as his body warped, growing taller, curvier, more mature and far less male until-

...until the blond girl from the summer camp was standing there wearing Kacchan's clothes, knife in hand and that wide, arrogant grin full of sharp teeth for everyone to see. Her arms were splayed wide, her clothes, _Kacchan's clothes_, were baggy and hanging of her taller, fuller frame.

"_**Come on then, save me!"**_

The sheer hysterical joy emanating from every pore of her body made Izuku want to vomit.

A sudden, nearly overwhelming urge burned at the green haired boy, demanding him to vault over the wall and reach the blonde villain. To rip those clothes off her laughing self, so shake her shoulders and scream and demand where their real owner was, that she better tell him-

But he does nothing.

Shock, shame, fear ate at him in waves, eroding any sense of confidence. Izuku feels his legs slowly fold under him; he sinks to his knees, barely hearing his classmates' frantic whispers. He ignores them, eyes fixed on the battlefield.

Please. Anything. Something had to happen. Something had to tell him Kacchan was alright.

"Oh god!" The blond girl crackled, doubling over. Her excited, amused laughter was like nails on chalkboard for Izuku. " Too busy charging forward to pay attention, Mr. Hero?!"

All Might seems to jolt that her voice, as if her words unfroze him from his stupor. "Where's -"

"...you should see your face, All Might."

Izuku's breath hitched.

All for One had been a mostly quiet presence during the exchange, a massive, ominous statue looking down at them while the world crumbled away. But no longer; the attention was no longer on the girl but the ancient villain who continued speaking, unruffled and sounding pleasantly happy:

"...the same recklessness that brought Yuuei to station their prized students out in the middle of nowhere, with only six heroes to protect them."

"I…."

All Might just looked so...deflated, without even being in his other form. Izuku watched as his mentor deflated, head dropping low. The world seems to still, pausing for this one moment. None of the villains move, none of the heroes attack. It's quiet.

Then All Might rolls his shoulders and stands tall, head rising to show eyes that were dark and hardened.

That's when the last of Izuku's hope is snuffed out.

The battle picks up again, full of desperate fury from All Might and calculated savage news from his nemesis. The two titans clash again and again, shaking the earth under Izuku's feet.

He watches, captivated, horrified. He watches, pinned in place by shock as his hero fights for his life and that of those around him, as All for One's companions take one of Kurogiri's warp gate.

As the girl wearing Kacchan's clothes turns around, sends off a kiss to the world and then falls back into black mist.

Then there's nothing there.

No villain. No Kacchan. They were gone.

They were all gone.

The ground shakes under him; wind flies through his hair, tousling it. The sounds of fighting are but distant background chatter, All Might's battle with his worst nemesis forsaken from his mind as he stared at the empty spot where the portal had once been.

Izuku might have stayed where he was until the fight ended. Until the dust settled. He might have stayed there forever.

But that did not happen.

Warmth pierces through his shock, spreading from his right arm; Izuku blinks as he's dragged to his feet, pulled away from the hole he'd been peering through.

Blankly, he turns to the person tugging him along. Glasses, worried blue eyes and an askew fake mustache. Immediately, he knows what the other boy wants.

It tears his heart in two.

"H-he might be in the rubble." Izuku said, but even to his own ears it sounded hollow.

Behind Iida, Todoroki shakes his head. "Midoriya. We have to go." "We would only get in the way.

"I'm sorry." It's Yayorouzo's turn now. The vice class president was biting her lower lip hard, eyes curled into fists at her sides. "But we can't stay here. The chances that we end up in the crossfire are only going to keep rising if we stay."

"Momo's right." Kirishima spoke up. He looked like he was in physical pain and Izuku's struck by the haunted hollowness in his eyes. "If we stay here, we'll get hurt. The...the best thing we can do is leave it to the Pros. They'll find him." He paused, swallowing. "T-they'll find him." Kirishima repeated, voice breaking.

He was on the verge of tears.

In that moment, Izuku wanted to scream more than anything else.

This is all wrong. Wrong wrong wrong somehow something screamed at him that this wasn't the way things should be going. That they should be saving Kacchan, that they would have him back by dawn and everything would be fine. That the next semester would start and he would be there, grumbling at his classmate's antics and matching Izuku blow for blow.

But that wouldn't happen, he knew that.

Because everything is wrong and for once, his brain couldn't think of a solution, a respite, a safe exit from this quickly cementing future.

_Kacchan was gone._

Izuku wakes.

It's a strange moment. One second he's standing in Kamino, the next he was staring up at the ceiling of his dorm room while lying on his bed. The switch was almost like whiplash ...though that would also require him being surprised by the sudden change.

As a matter of fact, Izuku was feeling kind of...empty.

Like he could just lay here forever and a part of him just wouldn't mind.

(Honestly, this wasn't the first occurrence of this sensation.)

He had to get up, though. His turn had come to do grocery shopping, and he was supposed to meet Shinsou, Kirishima and Todoroki at the common room to get that done early in the morning.

He had things to do.

People waiting for him.

Staying here, as much as he wants to, was not an option.

Slowly, dragging his limbs, Izuku rolls off the bed and onto his feet. Blinking lethargically, he rubs his eyes in a meager attempt to wake himself up. As he walks away from the enticing bed he steps over abandoned books, forgotten notes and the small pile of clothes he knew he should have cleared out days ago but couldn't find the will in himself to do it.

Clothes are picked up and he dresses himself, movements growing faster as awareness creeped up and his limbs started to feel less like stiff lead weights. The feeling didn't go away completely, but by the time he put on his shoes and stepped out the door, Izuku found the sensation brearable.

He found the strength to take that weight, take that pain, box it up and shove it in a corner for now.

Today would be easier. No classes. Aizawa wasn't on campus today, he remembered with faint clarity. He was out on hero work and would later spend the afternoon with Eri.

At the thought of the little girl Izuku's pace faltered, stopping in the middle of the hallway. He stared down at the ground, unseeing.

_I haven't visited her yet, _he thinks emptily.

Izuku hadn't mustered the courage to do so, given the circumstances. He can never forget the leaked footage he'd found two days ago.

Of Overhaul's severed arms left neatly on top of the gurney that was meant to tie the Yakuza villain down, laid out perfectly they would be if Chisaki hadn't been taken. Blood had turned the white gurney a deep, dark red, and accompanied with the large puddle under the bed and the hand and shoe prints on the floor, it left the image that this was the scene of a horrible murder.

Maybe it was.

Chisaki's body had yet to be found and the amount of blood left behind…

...well, the League had yet to show their hand about what they'd done to the Yakuza leader -apart from the obvious amputation- but there was little doubt in Izuku's mind that the man was very much dead, or worse.

Shigaraki was not a forgiving person. Especially when crossed. For all the world knew, Chisaki had fallen into the League's hands and disappeared.

_Just like Kacchan._

He let out a shuddering exhale.

Six months. Six months and nothing.

….he should be getting used to it by now.

**.**

**.**

**. **

There's three people waiting for him when he gets to the common room.

"Oh hey Midoriya!"

"Kirishima!" He greeted the other boy with a polite smile. It doesn't quite reach his ears, but the redhead didn't seem to mind if the way he swung an arm over his shoulders and pulled him into a half hug was anything to go by.

Izuku allows it, trying hard to disregard the unpleasant twist in his heart as Kirishima's big bulky arm brought him close to the redhead's warm body in an affectionate manner. It felt wrong, in a way, to be hugged like this. Kirishima was Kacchan's best friend, not his.

He allowed though, for the other boy's sake.

After all, he was far from the only one affected in the wake of the Summer Camp and Kamino.

When Kirishima pulled away, Izuku gave him a small smile before turning to the other members of the group. Shinsou, and Todoroki were standing by the door, their own shopping bags tucked under their arms. The red and white haired boy was holding the list Iida had made yesterday night after a heated debate between all the members of Class 1-A.

For some reason, that last thing brings a bit of warmth back to Izuku's aching heart, easing away some of the lingering pain from his nightmare.

Shouto's welcome was a slow blink and the quietest whisper of his name, the boy's attention torn in between him and the list Iida had compiled with extreme precision. Shinsou instead gives him a nod as a greeting, which Izuku returns.

The other boy didn't talk much, not unless it was necessary or he found it pertinent. Maybe he did, in his own way, sense that he wasn't wholly accepted, no matter how much Izuku wished he could be.

If things were different, maybe it would be easier to accept his presence in the Heroics Department. But given whose desk he sat during class time, a wounded, irrational part of Izuku couldn't help but feel resentful.

It shouldn't have been Kacchan spot. He shouldn't be anywhere near it, that very same part of him thought.

Mineta had nearly up and quit right after the Provincial Exam after it came out Himiko Toga had infiltrated the examination ...and he hadn't been the only one who was nearly pulled from the school by their parents. No matter how much the Hero Commission fought to hide it, the media managed to sniff the incident out and blasted it through the news channels for nearly a week.

Izuku was surprised and relieved none of them were pulled out of the school.

That didn't mean the rest of his classmates didn't fight tooth or nail to stay at school. He himself had to argue with his mother to the point of screaming to stay at the school. That had never happened before. It hurt, but Izuku out his foot down there. He wasn't leaving Yuuei -especially after what happened.

Rolling over to the villains felt like a betrayal. Not just to himself, or to his promise to All Might -but for his childhood friend most importantly.

_Nevermind the fact Kacchan would probably kick my ass if I did drop out._

"Midoriya." Todoroki's smooth, familiar voice yanked him out of his spiralling thoughts. Izuku blinks. "You're spacing out."

Embarrassment warms his face as he blabbers an apology. "I'm sorry!" He finds himself stammering. There's no doubt in his mind that his face was as red as a tomato. "I was just thinking"

"Yes" Shinsou spoke up in that familiar, deadpan manner that did not help the redness in his face. "We saw."

Izuku answered with a sheepish smile. He watches as Kirishima chuckles, and seconds later there's a hand clapping him on his back.

"Typical Midoriya." The redhead says, stepping away. "C'mon, we better get going before traffic hits the trains."

"R-right!" Izuku finds himself stuttering. "Are we ready to go?"

All three of the boys nod.

"Iida gave us bags." At that, Todoroki lifts up what looked like a horrendous multitude of cloth bags, far more than they would need even when shopping for twenty people. His face never changed from that calm, collected expression, but there was a glint in his eyes that was slightly haunted. "He was very adamant that we take them."

At his side, both Shinsou and Kirishima nod. They look equally disturbed.

Izuku is really glad he wasn't there for that particular conversation.

**.**

**.**

**.**

When it came to feeding twenty people, divide and conquer was the best technique.

Kirishima vanishes into the meat aisle, the shark-toothed boy an expert at picking the best parts at the cheapest price. Shinsou goes for the dairy products first, and Todoroki goes to pick up the condiments and cereals.

Izuku goes to the fruits and vegetable section of the store.

Overall, it's a quiet affair.

_The rate of vigilantism is up, _Izuku thinks absently as he picks the oranges, side eyeing the television screen on the ceiling as he did. They were a request from Iida, who needed the most he could for his Quirk. _Wonder how the government's going to combat this. Should they even? The heroes are swamped..._

This seemingly unstoppable rising percentage wasn't for the lack of the Hero Commission not trying, though. No matter how much he worked hard, Endeavor just didn't quite conjure up the same feeling of safety All Might had during his reign as the Number One Hero.

While the fight versus the hooded Nomu during the Hero Ranking ceremony at Fukuoka and Endeavor's victory had done good, there were still too many things that had gone wrong.

...and it all came back to the Summer Camp. The culmination, the starting point of the new era.

Izuku stares down at the bag of oranges in his hands. He doesn't really see it, too lost in his own thoughts.

If he'd just been faster, stronger, if he hadn't been injured saving Kota maybe then he could have reached Kacchan. Maybe then all of this would be different. Would be better.

...maybe All Might would still have his Quirk, and Izuku his friend.

Sighing, he tosses the bag onto his shopping cart. He's not sure why he can't stop thinking about Kacchan -why the moments where his mind is unburned and free were few and a rare commodity.

...if he was being honest that would be a lie. Izuku knew exactly why his mind always came back to the Summer Camp -to _Kacchan_.

He just couldn't let it go. No matter where he turned, what he did, how much he strived to be the best hero he could be, Kacchan seemed to always be there. In the corner of his vision, staring at him with those familiar, bright, narrowed scarlet eyes.

If only he wasn't-

"That's some fucking bullshit!"

Izuku startles at the loud male voice, nearly dropping the bell peppers he'd picked up. Across him, a young woman frowns and scurries away, side eyeing something behind Izuku. There's apprehension and annoyance in her eyes.

_What was that?_ He turns around, looking for the source of the fuss.

The young hero in training quickly finds his answer, as there were two men talking rather loudly with one of them waving his arms around and gesticulating.

"They can't really let him get away with that, right?!" One of the men, the one with short bright ginger hair and loose clothes exclaimed. "He has to get the fucking boot at the very least!"

"Depends if the Hero Commission gets off their asses." The man's partner replies, far more subdued and grumpy as he picks a few bananas from the stands.

Izuku frowns. _Hero Commission?_

The second man looked like he had a bunch of little blue-tinted jellyfish living on top of his head. It was a fascinating Quirk. But what was far more interesting to Izuku was what he was talking about.

Over the years spent as a quirkless child, Izuku had grown to develop a sixth sense when it came to detecting people talking about heroics. Even after nearly a year had passed since his chance meeting with All Might and his first steps to becoming the next Symbol of Peace, that skill never truly went away.

So he keeps his ears open and tries to act casual as he listens in. Any embarrassment or guilt he previously felt at spying on someone's conversation goes out the window at what he hears next:

"You have to admit that the article was fucking something. Can you believe it? A hero running away from danger?"

_**What.**_

Izuku couldn't just sit idly. Pocketing the last bell pepper into the plastic bag, he trots over to the two men and gently taps the closest one on the shoulder. It's the man with the ginger hair; he jolts a bit as he turns around. A brow is raised when his eyes meets Izukus.

"Excuse me," Izuku began politely, smiling apologetically. It felt a bit forced against his tense nerves. "-but I accidentally overheard you talking about a hero running away from a villain? What are you talking about?"

The ginger-haired man blinks. Then he offers a grimace. "Oh, hi kid. Haven't seen it yet?" Izuku shakes his head. The man's expression sours even more. "There's a scandal going on with a hero called Heartburn in Kiosho. Apparently, he ran from a Nomu that was let loose by the League near a hospital."

Izuku's brain makes an odd splutter.

Ran...away?

A hero?

_Ran away?_

"How...how can that happen?"

Ginger man shrugs. "Hmm, who fucking knows? The media's dragging him through the dirt, so if the rat even keeps his license he probably won't even break the top 300 for the next thirty years. Shoowaysha Publishings is really going at it, you should take a look at their article."

His companion snorts, the jelly appendages atop his head jiggling with the movement. Izuku almost finds himself staring but when the man speaks next all interest is gone, swept away to be replaced by horror:

"Not without fucking fault. There's been thirteen deaths and counting!"

Izuku feels the slightest bit faint. "Oh…"

In a way, he shouldn't be surprised. Nomu attacks had sharply risen after All for One had gone to Tartarus; it seemed that without his master Shigaraki's leash was off. At least every two weeks there was another attack, another death toll. Not just in Musustafu -but everywhere around the country.

It was like an epidemic.

Ginger man squints at him, thoughtful. "Kid, were you in a commercial or somethin'? You look familiar."

Izuku blanches. For once, he was glad for his plain face. Even the recent incident with the Yakuza was lost to the constant buzzing of the media. Pro hero sentiment was at a far tie low, so Izuku goes to disengage from the conversation.

The lies come to him in a disorganized, broken mess that tumble out of his lips with the same grace as an elephant dancing on two feet:

"I-I might? My mom's a model so she forces me to…" He stammer, then realizes how utterly stupid he sounded and quickly just jumped to the point because this could not get worse. "-I need to go! My friends are waiting for me!"

Before the ginger man and his jellyfish-haired companion could reply to that word jumble, Izuku quickly spins around, grabs his cart and quickly scurries off with it. He doesn't stop until he's out of that aisle and into what seemed like a canned food section. Vegetables be damned.

...or not. He'll just circle back in three minutes, they should be gone by then.

Izuku exhales as he comes to a stop, resting his forehead against the handle of the cart. He can't believe he just did that. It had been unbelieavably stupid for him to do that.

_You're a fucking idiot Deku,_ the young man thinks in a voice that sounded far too familiar. To be fair, that sounded like something Kacchan would have shrieked at him at one point.

Just the thought of his name sends a pang of aching yearning through Izuku. He straightens up, looking down at his hands. The scars on his right hand, his sacrifice for the Sports Festival, seem to almost stare back, unblinking, undaunted.

The sight seems to bring ache to his upper right, where the skin was scar tissue and recently healed skin. While he was wearing a medium sleeved shirt, it would only take a bit of tugging to expose the burn Dabi had left him.

_Don't think about it._

The sharp reprimand does little to help. So, Izuku tries to turn his attention away from the Summer Camp to more current and pressing matters.

That hero -Heartburn? Izuku suddenly found himself with the incessant urge to look him up. Because if what the man said was true...he didn't want to think about it, but the anger between the two adults had been very real, and very sobering.

(What kind of hero runs when people need them?)

Mood souring even further, Izuku decides that if he's waiting for the two men to leave he might as well be productive. He takes out his phone and writes the name of the hero down on the search bar. _The man said Shoowaysha Publishings, I should add that._

And he does.

A quick click to start the search, and Izuku has what he was looking for front and center.

_There!_

He clicks on the very first link in the web result. The bright professional website of Shoowaysha Publishings greets him. And the big, fat headline placed front and center made Izuku's work to find the right paper very short and quick:

**Hero HeartBurn Runs from Nomu, leaves thirteen dead. Are we really safe anymore?**

Izuku winces, and then reluctantly clicks on it. It was an article by a journalist Chitose Kizuki.

He scrolls through it quickly, his frown deepening the more he read it. There were pictures as well, none too graphic but the sight of burning, crumbling buildings twisted his stomach into knots with their familiarity to Kamino. The other pictures of people struggling to carry out the broken, bleeding bodies of their friends, families or simply other bystanders had nausea clawing at the back of his throat.

It was a good thing that Izuku hadn't eaten much this morning at breakfast.

There was a picture of the Nomu involved with the incident alongside the article -a video, actually, Izuku realizes as he clicks on it.

It's massive, bat-like wings spread wide, rippling black hide reflecting the light of the fires. It had an avian build but a human head and skeletal, sharp arms. The brain was engorged, popping out of what was left of a somewhat human skull and nearly overshadowing it's big, dead eyes.

As the flames lick at it's body and it shrieks wordlessly to the heavens, Izuku's eyes widen slightly in realization that the red shadows on the beast weren't all from the flames, but rather the series of interweaving dots and stripes across its wings and back, running down its arms and legs and culminating around it's wrists and ankles.

Izuku swallows. He starts scrolling down again.

Finally when he hit the bottom of the page -that's when his frown turned into a grimace.

The comment section was hardly positive. They're hard to look at. It's hardly the first time he saw such negative commentary directed towards heroes, but it was bad. It seemed that these kinds of discourses were only growing more and more prominent.

He had to wonder what kind of world he would be stepping into once he graduated.

As he thinks that sordid, terribly sour thought, his finger slips on his phone screen and drags it past the comment section. Izuku blinks as an article title in the suggestions catches his attention.

_The Ghost Murders?_

**.**

**.**

**.**

"We told you for the last time to fuck off."

"I'm not leaving until I have my answer."

At the flat, impassive tone, Miushi feels lost.

The kid ignores the glare his companion offers in response, utterly ignorant or uncaring of the danger as Needle raises up his namesake and flexes his fingers, showing off the long sharpened nails at the tip of his fingers.

Again, the threat generates no response.

Not a twitch of the lips, not a flinch, no narrowed eyes. Nothing. Its as if they were talking to an inanimate object. Silence hovers over the three of them, ever pressing. Awkward, almost.

No, it definitely was awkward.

_God damn, he's got balls. _Muishi thinks as he takes in the scene from where he's standing off to the side. If he keeps at it, Needle's not going to react well.

Of the two of them, Needle was the one who would qualify as a villain. He was ambitious and cruel, and had no issue using his Quirk in broad daylight now that police everywhere in Japan were scrambling to get their ducks in a row after that shitshow at Kamino.

Muishi, on the other hand? He just wanted to put enough money on the table to feed himself, and if he added a bit of beer and other things to the tab, that was his problem, not anyone else's. He wasn't a saint, but he wasn't his trigger happy cousin either. He might have hurt some people, but never crossed the line into more.

So while he was game for crime, there was something about this kid that set him on edge.

First of all, the boy approached them, after dark, in an alley of all places. Fearless, even when faced with two adults well into their twenties. Muishi would give this kid sixteen at most.

_-if _he was a child at all.

There was just something off...

"God damn it kid, we told you for the last time that we aren't telling you crap for you or your druggie friends." Needle waves him off, sharpened nails glinting black under the faint lights. "Scram."

Those dead, terrible red eyes blink once, slowly. Like a lizard, but not. Muishi's suppresses a shiver.

Something what fucking wrong, and he knew it.

"So you know where he is." The boy states with that droning, oddly empty voice. It made Muishi's skin crawl.

"When did I say that?" Needle spit back before Muishi's could get involved. His tone was defensive, far too defensive, and his skin crawled yet again at the way those dead eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Look kid, I ain't saying shit if you don't give me that big ass thing on your back."

"I…"

It's whispered so low, Muishi nearly doesn't catch it. For a moment he thinks the teen was about to respond to his cousin's offer, to dissolves the confrontation by giving in -but then he catches those red eyes abruptly moving over to him.

In that moment he realizes what the boy was saying. He wasn't responding, he was repeating. Like he was taking that singular, tiny word and rolling it over his tongue, observing it, analyzing it carefully.

Somehow this made his blood turn cold.

Muishi can't help but shift his attention to examine the object of Needle's desire. That was a pretty big, interesting suitcase. Muishi had no idea what it contained, but it had to be valuable. Cameras? Equipment? Drugs?

If he's a drug runner, the dealer who enlisted him was failing at his job. That grey, washed out skin and those dead eyes certainly made him stand out of the crowd for all the wrong reasons.

A quick glance at Needle tells him his cousin was eyeing the case just like him. There's greed in his eyes. It's not something Muishi likes.

Fuck, they should just get out of here.

(Would the kid even let them walk away?)

The fact that he does not know the answer to that question makes him even more fidgety. Enough to consider just walking away and letting Needle deal with this crap. He could take the creepy kid on.

Needle's confident, rough voice calls out into the night, bringing him back to the present. "Last call, kid, give me that shit."

"No."

Muishi can't help but blink at the flat statement. It wasn't even a refusal -just a statement. Flat, dead. Like it was cemented into the future. Like the boy knew that they would not get his precious suitcase.

"Kid, you really shouldn't cross me." Needle growled, looking more and more agitated. "This is going to turn ugly. Your choice."

The kid stares back, unblinking.

Unimpressed.

Muishi was not liking this. Something deep inside himself was turning restless and nervous the longer he looked at the brat. The more Needle pushed, the more that uneasy feeling in his gut grew.

Fuck, they really shouldn't be pushing this. The kid could be anyone -could have any Quirk. Even with that ugly getup, he could be from anywhere. Fighting someone whom they didn't know anything about was fucking risky, no matter how ridiculous they looked in that adult sized green jacked covered in brown spots and with purple fur trim-

Wait. Muishi's thought derails at this tiny, practically inconsequential detail. Brown spots?

He takes a closer look. No, not brown. There was very little light in the alleyway but as the kid stood there some of the jacket's stains were illuminated by lamp light, showing more of a rust color.

The hair at the back of Muishi's neck rise up.

_Is that…?_

He feels his heart lurch in his chest, beating faster. There's a sudden cold dripping from the top of his head down to the tip of his toes, a slow horrifying realization of something he cannot fully comprehend but still grasp, somewhat.

His whole being was screaming at them to get out of here.

"Hazo, leave him alone." He finds himself saying, using his friend's real name. He looks at his idiot of a cousin, trying to communicate with his eyes that no matter what the kid had on him, this wasn't worth it.

They didn't even know what the kid's Quirk was, getting away to fight another day was their strategy.

But Needle wasn't looking back at him. In fact, he was outright ignoring him, his bullish nature making itself known in front of a potential score. He's glaring instead, digging daggers at their nonplussed stranger.

At his interjection those red eyes stared up at him, dull and dead. It was unsettling. Normally when Muishi looked at people in the eye there was a glimmer, a shininess, a sense of awareness in them that this teenager didn't seem to have. A doll had more life in its eyes than this kid.

_(Can't be a kid, just __**look **__at it.)_

If he'd been walking past the alleyway, he could have looked right through the boy's dead, flat face and never been able to pick him out from the equally dull brick wall behind him.

The kid moves, snapping his attention to the present. He's sliding off the sideways strap of the metal suitcase, pulling it over his head and letting gravity bring the case towards the ground. His eyes never left them, but there was no hostility in those red orbs. There wasn't much of anything, to be honest.

Muishi fought back a relieved sigh.

Well, there was that-

Faster he could blink before the suitcase touched the ground -the kid spun in a circle and slammed the heavy metal case into the right side of Needle's skull.

_Crack._

The sickening crunch of bone giving away was forever branded in Muishi's memory.

"_**Hazo!"**_

The horrible, warbled sound his cousin made as he stumbled back, face bleeding and head snapped back from the blow was horrifying. Muishi's feet became rooted to the ground, frozen at the brutality and the blood pouring down his relative's face.

And just then, as he stared open mouthed and in shock, the child-thing-whatever the _fuck _it was- drops the case, takes one step forward and reaches with his right hand for Needle's neck with the same casualness one would grasp for a object on a supermarket shelf.

_**Boom.**_

At first, Muishi's doesn't understand what's going on.

Then he registers the warmth on his face, neck arms ...and the thud of his cousin's body as it hits the ground. His head was looking at an angle, twisting to the left with a sickening squelsh.

There was red, so much red. It invades his vision, swallows him. Muishi stares, mouth open, frozen, mind unable to grasp the sight of Needle slowly falling over, the only sign of life being faint twitching and a rasping, gurgling few sounds before he went quiet. Red soaked the ground of the alley. Muishi even saw pink amongst the red.

The man's face was a mess; both of his eyes had popped and splattered transparent liquid everywhere, and the blood kept flowing in between the massive burns. There was hardly anything vaguely recognizable as human in this body.

It took a moment for it to click. For what occurred to settle in his mind and solidify into fact.

Needle was dead.

His cousin was _dead_.

Muishi promptly forgets all hesitation as his vision is clouded by red.

"You fucking little sh-!"

Silver flashes, cutting right through the scar;et haze that had fallen over his eyes before it could fully sink in and take over. Pain roars up in his right upper arm. Muishi stares blankly at his arm, at his hand -at the large knife embedded into his forearm.

He tries, but his hand won't move. It just hung there, limp and dangling and dead.

Panic bloomed into terror inside Muishi's chest at the realization that he _could not move his arm at all._

He's right handed. There's no way he can defend himself. This is not a fight he can win. The terror swells inside him at the idea of his own immediate vulnerability. Muishi spins on his heels and runs.

Deep down, some part of him that wasn't screaming hysterically inside his head knew he wasn't going to get away.

It gets proven quickly enough.

He's nary a few steps away from his original position when a hand grabs onto his jacket and _yanks_; Muishi yells as he's dragged back like a fish on a hook and tossed against something hard and cold. A brick wall.

He barely has time to process it before a hand clamps down on his face, pushing his head against brick hard enough to make his skull rattle. Muishi lets out a gnarled noise of pain as he reaches out with his left, still functioning arm, but a hand wraps around his wrist and pins it to the wall, holding it so tight Muishi has to swallow down a scream.

It felt like a mechanical clamp pressing down on his joint, threatening to snap the delicate bones within. Muishi, panicking, tries to kick, but he finds that he's standing at his tip toes and unable to do anything but weak flailing.

The hand on his face tightened in response, cold long fingers digging into his skin with detached, uncaring force. One digit was dangerously close to his left eye, threatening to dig into his eye socket. Muishi rasp and whimpers through the pain and quickly goes limp, giving up.

A slight relief in the pressure allows him to chase away the black spots in his vision.

When he's able to focus again, Muishi finds that the thing was looking up at him with that same, ever impeccable neutral face. Noting that he was looking at it, his cousin's killer opens up its mouth and exclaims with a tone not unlike someone was talking about the weather:

"You conducted a raid on a electronic store downtown by the bay."

_How?_

There was no way this kid could know about it. The only ones who knew that they hit the damn place were himself, Needle -and shit if thinking of him didn't _hurt- _the buyer and the guy who provided them with the guns to storm the place, because Muishi's color changing Quirk was useless shit and Needle could only do so much without backup.

There was no way this guy could know about their raid. Unless someone talked, _or…._

Cold crawls up his spine. He doesn't even bother lying.

"...yes, we did."

The thing tilts its head just the tiniest bit. The pale blond locks fall over its head. "Who did you sell it to."

"Z-Zham." The cold grip on his throat tightens nearly imperceptively. It felt like a steel clamp was pressing down on his face and Muishi scrambles to explain. "A-at least that's the name he goes by! He has some tech Quirk, h-he was able to wipe the equipment and prep it for sale!"

The thing barely breathes as it states flatly:

"Tech Quirk. Explain."

"H-he can manipulate technology! Like code with huh, his brain? I don't fucking know!" Muishi's voice grows wheezier and higher in his panic. The words that left his lips were warmbled and almost incoherent. "He's just good with that! Hacking and stuff." He pauses, swallowing.

The death grip on his throat slackens, if only minutely.

Muishi wheezes out a breath. The realization comes to him quickly, and between the grief at his cousin's death and the delirious pain from his unresponsive arm he can't stop himself from whispering out:

"...that's what you're after, right?

The dead eyes gaze back. There's no movement from that cold face. Up close as he is now, although unwillingly, Muishi can pick out just how greyed the skin of his attacker was. It still had some color, but not much. Not nearly enough.

It only brought out the two scarlet stripes of reddened scar tissue that curved under his eyes even more.

Then the thing open his mouth again, it's words just as dead and empty as it's eyes:

"Location."

Muishi lets out a soft breath. Okay, maybe if he played his cards he could get out of here. It was too late for his cousin but he could still make it. He had to.

"Downtown. On the Eighteenth Avenue." The pain rises up like waves crashing against a cliff and he stutters, sight blurring. If he could just have more _air… _"Its...its the building with the washed up green door ...a-and electronic crap at the front. You can't miss it."

Silence.

The boy stays quiet, simply gazing into his eyes. A car honks in the distance. Muishi swallows.

"...that's...that's what you wanted, right?"

It blinks.

Slow, calculated, almost like a lizard. Those dark, scarlet eyes fail to reflect light, their eerie, dead inside lacking any sort of of awareness besides some odd, detached drive.

Then it's mouth finally opens and it utters one single, flat sound.

"Yes."

Muishi opens his mouth to reply, but the thing masquerading as a human being tightens his grip on his face, and then there was only burning, scorching _pain_.

**.**

**.**

**.**

The sound of something frying was quickly drowned out by muffled screaming.

Katsuki stayed still and silent as he held the man against the wall, ignoring the flailing limbs and nails scratching at his arms. The thick green coat kept him safe from injury and stopped his genetic material from ending up under the criminal's nails. He would not be traced here.

But the man was being loud. It was better if he got this over with quickly.

Katsuki turned up the heat and pressed.

_Crunch. _

He feels the nose break under his palm, followed by part of the frontal skull caving in. Warm, bubbling blood and other bodily fluids dripped in between his fingers, the bright red color contrasting with the pallor of the thin digits.

Finally, the screaming stopped.

Limbs slackened, the body immediately slumped down in a sitting position; Katsuki took a step back, slipping his fingers out from the deformed skull. Blood clings to his fingers, coagulated by the heat. The smell of burning flesh was thick in the air.

He gazes down at the body, ignoring the way brain matter stuck under his nails in favor of watching the pool of red grow steadily across the dirty asphalt alleyway.

It was good that these criminals had been hiding in such a private place. This simple fact made things much easier.

He bends low over the body, spreading hands above the corpse without touching it. A thought is all he needs for his skin to become sweaty and dripping with liquid; Katsuki watches, silent, as it drips down heavily onto the coat and head of the man.

Task done, Katsuki leaves the corpse slumped against the wall. There's more important things to do.

He walks over to his suitcase, picking it up and shaking the bottom slightly to dislodge dirt and blood particles. It didn't really matter to Katsuki how bloody it still remained. He would not be going out in public anyways, not until nightfall where the darkness would hide all of the imperfections.

His next target was already lined up, anyhow.

_One more step towards the League,_ he thinks as he walks over to the body of the claw-Quirk user. Kneeling down, he proceeds to repeat the same process as the other body. Finishing, he stands up and takes a step back.

A single, minuscule blast is enough to ignite the nitroglycerin. Katsuki aims up and longer, curling a hand in front of the other for a long range shot.

The second body catches fire just as easily.

He walks away, adjusting the strap of his case. It doesn't feel heavy at all. Katsuki gazes forward into the darkness of the alleyways, ignoring the flames at his back and the afternoon sun shining bright and merry above his head.

_One more step towards Shigaraki._

In that moment, he could almost taste the finality.

* * *

**That was dark, sheesh. Hope you guys caught the symbolism in the last sections. There's a bit of foreshadowing again here, and a lot of it further up. It's up to you to find it! No worries when the big things happen, I'll list the foreshadowings in the author notes for those who don't want to look back and reread the angst.**

**Also yes, I nearly yeeted Mineta out of this. Sue me.**

**Honestly, I felt like doing it. I really did. At least one student should have been pulled out of Yuuei after the Summer Camp in this AU, and in canon the infiltration of the Provincial Exam really doesn't have the attention that it should have. But a lot of them are really important to the plot, and I think it fits more with the story that a few of them had fight their parents to stay rather than taking the easy route and removing the sour grape. Plus, I like to think Kamino sobered his shit up.**

**Anyhow, for those following my stories up next on the chopping block are Stygian Fire and See (Too Much), which the latter should come out in three days tops. Almost done with it!**

**Next Chapter: A Matter of Perspective**

**What makes a monster? **

**Some people, like Toshinori, prefer not knowing the answer. Some outright ignore it. Others like this question too much. **

**...after all, when you are in a prison like Tartarus, it's good to keep yourself entertained.**


	10. Perspective

Tartarus is cold and quiet.

He walks through the pure white halls, the sound of their footsteps the only discernible sound that is heard in this great fortress of glass, metal and stone. Not one prisoner could be heard, no one else was moving through the hallways.

Tartarus was a place of cold and silence and Toshinori hated it.

There seemed to be no one inside this vast prison. While Tartarus did not boast a high capacity, it made it up in security. Machines connected to multiple independent systems that answered to a managing system and a rotating staff of highly trained personnel and heroes kept the facility on lock down.

It was an impenetrable fortress of metal, glass and stone sitting atop of an island and encircled by treacherous waters -which were themselves full of mines and detectors in case an underwater invasion was attempted.

No villain could hack it, no villain could break in.

The thought only brought some ounce of comfort to Toshinori. There was no way the League of Villains was ready to attack the prison, even with their Nomus, not after the raid on the Eight Precepts of Death two weeks ago.

Just the thought made his heart ache. Grief was a ugly, terrifying thing.

(They only just _started _talking again. Just as things were looking up for once in his life, just as Toshinori thought they would be able to reconcile-)

"Everything all right?"

He startles at the voice, even if it was next to him. Toshinori smiles politely at his companion, a well-built, athletic man just an inch shorter than him. "I am good, thank you. Just lost in my thoughts."

The Head Guard, Hata Takuma, merely grins in response. It's a weak one.

"Well, I guess that makes the two of us." He gestures down the hallway they had been walking through. "Do keep up though. Your security card has a set time limit until we reach the cell. If we go over the limit the entire wing will go into lockdown." At Toshinori's blank stare, he shrugs. "New safety precaution."

Overkill, but not out of character for a place like Tartarus. They took every security risk seriously.

"I see." Toshinori quickens his pace again, falling smoothly in line next to the shorter man. "That is interesting."

"We need to be prepared." Hata replies, shrugging. The sound of their footsteps bounce off the hallway. "Given we are extending the prison, we need to implement more strategies to ensure everything goes smoothly.

Toshinori's steps falter, the Head Guard's explanation catching him off guard. "Extending the prison?" He asks, tilting his head to look at the other man more closely.

"We're dangerously close to reaching maximum capacity." The Head Guard explains, looking ahead. His face is calm, but there was the slightest hint of a grimace that the man was trying to hide. "The higher ups decided to add more cell blocks, and the government signed the bill last week to provide the funding." He continues, tone even.

Toshinori frowns. "I...haven't heard of it." The former hero admits.

His companion chuckles, but it's not very amused. "Busy wrangling the kids?" Toshinori huffs out a laugh, and the man continues. "I don't blame you though. The Commission kept it pretty hush hush. Less trouble from villains and the public that way."

Toshinori feels his frown deepened at the way the man spoke. Delicately, he asks; "...are you happy about it?"

Hata sighs.

"No ones ever happy about having to make more cages." He says softly, and Toshinori finds himself agreeing. "But at the same time, I think it's a good idea, just not here. There's just too many villains the Commission is forcing us to take in expressively because we are good at our jobs. A lot of them don't really qualify to be here." The grimace peaks through the man's smooth mask. "It's...a security risk, in my opinion."

Toshinori represses a shudder.

A security risk. At Tartarus. Just the thought sent ice down his spine.

Especially given what happened recently. A prison break occurred near Shiketsu a month ago. Over fifty low and medium ranked villains had escaped in the ensuing chaos. Endeavor and other Pro-Heroes were pulled to deal with it, but so far only twenty of the criminals had been rounded up.

Hata's voice brings him back to the present:

"I don't like it. It's a risk to have construction workers, but the Hero Commission wants more beds to fill in Tartarus." The man continues, sounding almost bitter despite his attempts at maintaining professionalism.

Hata stops, and Toshinori follows. They reached the heavily armored door at the end of the hallway. The Head Guard pulls out a device and hovers it over Toshinori's tag. It beeps loudly.

"Put the tag over the console." Hata instructs, showing him the small device attached to the door. Toshinori does so dutifully. Another small beep echoed through the empty, cold hallway. "Well, here we go." The man sighs, turning back to him. "You're ready to go in."

"...thank you." Toshinori tells him quietly.

Hata nods, slow and solemn. In front of them, the door opens with a low hiss.

"No problem. Take care of yourself, All Might."

_All Might._

It's a simple thing, but it gives him courage. He wasn't weak. His physical strength was gone, but he was still the man that put the thing behind this door here. He'd done it with the dying embers of One for All.

And with that reminder, Toshinori straightens his back and steps inside.

The cell inside is cold and stale, the icy temperature biting at his exposed skin. Somehow, it feels even colder than the hallway. Toshinori tries to make to hide a shudder; even with the long coat he has on, the icy air of the cells got to him.

The door hisses once more as it locks shut behind him, locking Toshinori in the room. Alone, with the same monster that had robbed him of so much -the only being in this world Toshinori felt true, pure hatred against.

There's a thick wall separating him from the object of his visit. On the other side of the glass, the thing wrapped in binds and kept alive by an oxygen tank grins with scarred, mismatched lips.

"Ah, I was wondering why they took me out of my cell." The man says, sickly calm and polite. So much so that Toshinori's skin crawled, but habit and sheer will kept him from acting outwardly. "I must be honest, I am so glad to see you, All Might. I was getting lonely, all cooped up in this cage. The room service could use some fixing."

Toshinori snorts, but it's as stale and artificial as the air in the room. "What would you change?" He asks, more to start conversation than anything else.

"Hmm," All for One humms, leaning his bald head to the side. "I'll start by better food. And maybe _some _room to stretch my legs."

"That's not going to happen."

"Bah, you wound me."

"You wound yourself."

All for One lets out a weary, dramatic sigh.

"Curse me for having high expectations, even the _company _is bad." The criminal says. He pauses, the slight scowl turning into a small, unsettling smile. "...but that's not what you are here for, are you, old fossil?"

_Says you,_ thinks Toshinori, but he doesn't have the mental strength to start on that so he follows where his nemesis is leading him. It's easier, and if he plays his cards right he might be able to at least steer the conversation forward.

...still, talking to All for One was like playing a game of pinfinger.

"No. I'm here about the League." Toshinori breathes out, even.

"Oh?"

"I'm here about Overhaul."

All for One hums.

"Ah, that." Toshinori falters as that smile stretches. "Why are you asking me? I had nothing to do with what happened with Chisaki. That was all Tomura's doing." All for One said, ever calm and controlled as ever. It set his blood on fire. "Smart boy as he is, he sometimes has fits of frenzy. Losing one of his companions quite sent him on a rage."

The pleasant smile on the villain's face shifted. It was for a fraction of a moment, but it make toothier, sharper, closer to that unhinged grin Toshinori remembered the man making long, long ago, when the ancient villain and Nana Shimura clashed. Even with the man bound and weak as he was now, it sent ice crawling up his spine.

_Focus, Toshinori._

All for One's words were logical; the villain Magne had been confirmed dead just a few days before the raid, the mangled body found in an abandoned warehouse. Surely, the League wouldn't have let something like this stand, Shigaraki especially. The young man must have seen it as the greatest of slights from the Yakuza.

But the brutality of his actions, what was left of Overhaul…a small, dark part of Toshinori hoped that the man was dead. Because the alternative was chilling.

"You should be happy for that Tomura did." All for One speaks up, tearing through Toshinori's train of thought. HIs tone is polite but the smile on his lips is anything but. "I'm sure these lasts few weeks were hard for you. Good thing the snow came in late this year. It would have been really difficult to break ground otherwise."

Fury swells up in Toshinori's chest, quickly followed by grief and frustration. How dare he-

No.

This was exactly the kind of thing he would say. This was normal. This should have been expected. Toshinori did not know where he'd gotten the information about Nighteye -or about the raid- but this kind of thing should have been expected by him. This monster had eyes everywhere, and had exactly zero shame about using anything and everything to get under his opponent's skin.

_I can't let him get to me._

"The Nomu attacks." He redirects, thinking quickly. "You're not ordering them, are you?"

"That's an odd question." All for One retort, freigning curiosity. He doesn't even address the sudden change of topics. "I am hardly in a position to do so, All Might."

Toshinori clenches his teeth. _Lies._ He's certain, somehow, that the other still had access to the outside. Their current conversation was evidence of it.

"Kurogiri was more or less the leash." All for One continues, and immediately he knows where the old villain is going. "Want Tomura to act rational again? Release him."

"That's never going to happen."

"I thought so too." His nemesis sighs tirely. "Well, I gave you an idea. Tomura is restless after all, especially with no way to take out his frustration on anymore."

Wait.

_Anymore?_

But Shigaraki had never shown much signs of attacking Kurogiri, what would he -a ugly, terrible thought passes through his mind. Suddenly, Toshinori feels cold and numb.

_No._

"Who are you talking about."

A scar-tissue ridden brow is lifted. All for One makes a soft noise, one that drags knives across Toshinori's psyche. "Hm?"

"The one who Shigaraki takes out his frustration on." Toshinori begins, voice rising. He felt his face twists, muscles pulling, turning into something that he had no doubt was ugly and desperate. His fingers dig into the metal of his chair. "_Who are you talking about?"_

All for One has the gall to shrug as much as he can in his binds.

"When did I say it was anyone?"

"You just implied it." Toshinori barks.

"No, I didn't." All for One immediately responds with the same quick, denial-filled voice of a smug child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "Are you alright All Might? Do you need some refreshments?"

Something inside Toshinori snaps. He leaps to his feet, shaking the chair behind with the movement. Burning heat soars through his body as he raises a hand and drives a fist into the glass with an echoing _bam_.

"_**Stop lying!"**_

The grin slowly slides off All for One's face.

Silence. Toshinori hears his own breathing all too loudly. His hand hurts, an ache that told he'd pulled a muscle or broken a small bone. It's ignored. He's surprised that Hata hadn't spoken over the speaker yet to reprimand him. He's glad for it, because he's not sure what he would do if he was asked to leave right now, not when he was so _close-_

"It's always him at the end, isn't it?"

Toshinori freezes, breath hitching.

His fist slides off the glass, useless.

It's that tone. That cold, calculative, menacing tone that barely hid the glee the monster was feeling. He knows that tone. It's the tone All for One makes when he knows something his opponent doesn't -and he's about to use it devastating effect.

Toshinori wants to run.

Nausea and a small, desperate bit of hope keeps him rooted where he was.

"Bakugo, Bakugo, Bakugo." All for One repeats, tutting softly in a way that makes his skin crawl because he was saying his student's name after having diverted their conversations he tried having on his student for months- "Poor little Bakugo. Always in the center of attention. Always the martyr for your cause. The missing child the whole of Japan is clamoring for you to find."

Toshinori feels like he's going to leave his own body from the mixture of fear, euphoria and apprehension gnawing at his soul. It was happening. He's saying it. He's saying his name. He's finally _talking_.

After months of silence and deflection _All for One what finally talking about Bakugo._

"Tell me. No games." Toshinori knows that he shouldn't be begging, not to this monster, but a part of him is screaming and kicking, heavy like an anchor in his chest, demanding him to give in regardless of the low probability of success. "Tell me."

All for One says nothing. He's stone, no joy on his inhuman face. Like whiplash, the burning rage flares up once more within Toshinori like the flames of One for All had, long ago.

"You fucking-"

"Did you know that Tomura loved to collect toys as a kid?"

Toshinori falters once more, deflating. The anger, a roaring fire, was now snuffed out in the face of this new direction in their conversation.

"He liked the blonde dolls especially. He said they looked like they had hair spun from gold." All for One hums, talking as if he was reminiscing of the good old times. Toshinori lets him speak."As a child, he liked to collect them."

All Toshinori hears, sees and thinks was one of his last memories of Bakugo. How the boy had been on the receiving end of his friends' jokes as they loaded up the bus to go to camp. The way he had snarled at a giggling Kirishima, palms cracking with heat. His fluffy, pale blond hair swayed in the wind like the corn in a sunny field.

"Sometimes he got a bit _too _angry, and he ended up taking it out on them." All for One seems to recalls, almost fondly. "He was never good at managing his anger. Did you know what he did to them?"

And there it was.

The smile.

That chilling, terrible smile.

"He liked to tear them apart," All for One reveals, teeth bared. "...and afterwards, he'll ask me to stitch them back together."

For the first time in their conversation, Toshinori cannot speak. Not anymore. Any words that tried to appear on his lips never fully form, shattering into broken fragments that lodge in his throat and trap the air in his lungs.

It only feeds All for One's smile. It grows and grows, uglier and more deranged, yet somehow still holding that patient edge that would normally drive Toshinori mad.

And yet, he can't bring himself to have another outburst. What he said, what he implied, the incredible amount of terrible, horrible possibilities of what he said could _mean-_

"Well?"

"...why...why are you even telling me this?" Toshinori's voice comes out as a whisper, the broken fragility it held a surprise to his own ears. "You're not going to say anything. Not something that matters." _Not something that will let me find my student._

All for One doesn't respond. Not at first.

Then he leans back, theatrically pressing his head on the cushion of his chair. The smile lessened, dimming into a smaller, more human smirk.

"You asked, my friend." The monster in a human's body replies softly. "...is that not what you were looking for?" He asks, in a way a teacher would ask what was wrong to a crying child.

It should be humiliating. It's not.

It's terrifying. It makes the pit in his gut grown and grown, grief clawing at his soul like a ravenous beast.

"No." Toshinori murmurs. "It's not. Not that way."

_You know that._

_You're saying these things just to make me suffer more._

Because that's what he did. All for One always held back, held the cards close to his chest and let Toshinori see them only if he wanted to and it was only one by one, every single one of them delivered perfectly to causing him pain. Because that was what the bastard thrived off, what might power the monster to live for so many decades.

Even now if All for One still had eyes, they would be gleaming with satisfaction.

"Sometimes, not knowing is better than knowing something at all."

Toshinori can't handle it anymore.

Stumbling, he turns around and walks _-run- _out of the room, feeling the weight of All for One's attention upon his back. The criminal lets him leave without a goodbye, without another mocking comment meant to dig under Toshinori's skin.

He just lets him go, and that, somehow, was the most chilling thing of all.

**.**

**.**

**.**

When he stumbles out of the room a moment later, his throat too tight with horror to allow any words to come out, the Head Guard was there. Wordlessly Hata hands him a small, nondescript plastic bag.

Toshinori takes it quick and lets the nausea festering in his stomach take over.

**.**

**.**

**.**

The night, Katsuki finds, is not always dark and empty.

Sometimes, depending on the location, it's quite bright and full of life.

The passing cars, the bright street signs, the light fixtures over his head; all different sources of varying lights, splashing the world with color. The paleness of the snow only enhanced all of this.

The noise is always one of the most surprising aspects of being outside. After spending months in the dark, in the silence with nothing but the screams of his victims and the voices of his teachers, it's off-putting to hear the giggles of young women as they walk into bars, the whooping and cheering of men as they stumble down the dirty, colorfully lit streets, the calls of people from the balconies and the holler of vendors from the small, hazardly cobbled together stores perched in the sidewalks.

The night seemed to bring out the colors and sounds more than the day ever could.

Sighing, he hunches his shoulders and adjust the strap of his case. Red eyes drift down to his notebook, poised carefully in one hand. The page he had it open at was already half filled with information.

Tracking people for a few days before striking wasn't going to work in the long run if Katsuki wanted to get things done somewhere in the near future. The man he'd approached with the robber's information had made short work of passwords and encryptions on the phones Katsuki had accumulated.

Now he had a vast array of names, locations and markets to look at.

Any of them could be related to the League, but strategically All for One and Shigaraki would work through other people for the more mundane crimes. Kidnapping, drug smuggling and general thievery that kept the League's pockets full were done through middle men -and these people would have middle men of their own, runts and common crooks that worked on the streets without any idea who they were indirectly supporting.

Katsuki had his work cut out for him.

The number, the monumentality of his task didn't make him blink. It was doable. Katsuki would make it doable. But to get to the top of the mountain, he'll have to reach for the best perches.

Finding Shigaraki was not going to be an easy task -and fighting him while the man was at his strongest was categorically not what Katsuki was after. To take him down, he needed to dig out all the roots.

It wasn't going to be easy.

It was going to take a long time.

Not a problem for Katsuki, though. He knew where to look. He knew how to be patient, how to wait, how to stalk.

They did teach him well after all.

He taps a finger against the paper of his open notebook, idly tracing his own writing. His nail drags over the list of names and contacts, sketching out the tiny red X he'd written in the margin of each name.

Twenty five so far.

Drug dealers, thieves, muggers, rapists. Anyone shady Katsuki could get his hands on, he did so. After night after night of mindless hunting, it was the weapons dealers were his latest targets.

There was, apparently, a place in this city where both weapons and old tools were processed. Unused, lost, damaged or stolen hero support items were hot in the black market for those who could not afford to pay underground creators or more the more pricey alternative, dealing under the table with rogue official Pro-Hero support companies.

He wondered, for a moment, who made his gear. Then Katsuki remembers that it doesn't matter in the end so he discards that train of thought. It was unproductive.

Like sitting here doing nothing.

He tucks the booklet into one of the pockets of his massive coat. Adjusting the hood in a manner that the fluffy purple trim shielded his face from the cold -and most importantly, from view- Katsuki stepped out into the streets.

Cars drove by, sometimes faster than they should. Teenagers hollered across the street and vendors responded in turn. The crunch crunch of snow under his boots was a familiar sound, a comfortable one, something he held onto as tightly as the weight of his suit on his back and the knives under his coat.

He finds his gaze drifting upwards once more, entranced by the bright strings of light hung across the street; colorful ribbons that stood out against the darkness of the sky and cast a red and yellow light on the pavement. It was mesmerizing.

But the gentle peace doesn't last long. Katsuki's sensitive ears pick up the sound of approaching footsteps to his right and his hands curls into fists, eyes widening in attention as he prepares to attack-

-then he smells it.

"Hey, interested?

Katsuki blinks blankly at the strange, round brown thing in front of his face, shoved there by an older man in his forties with large floppy bat ears. The vendor -if the dirty chef clothes were anything to go by- all but jams the strange bun in his face.

Katsuki nearly recoils and reaches for the handgun tucked inside his jacket.

He's distracted from the sudden approach by the smell of the food; clearly meaty but with something that catches his attention, that has him staring cross eyed at this pale brown, circular little thing with interest. It was a sharp scent, one that reaches his nostrils and had them flaring

And most importantly, most alarmingly, had something at the back of his head tingling with recognition.

"So? Do you want it?" The vendor presses, taunting, catching his expression. "Smells good right, kid? It's only 400 yen! Right off the fire!"

Katsuki doesn't answer; he just takes out a few yens and gives it to the vendor. The rugged old man promptly snatches it up and give him the bun wrapped in paper in response. Katsuki snags it as quickly as the elderly man grabbed the money and stalks away.

The first thing he does is scurry into the nearest quiet place.

An isolated roof overlooking the bustling crowd gave him the safety that allowed his mind to settle. He curls up on the rooftop, sitting cross legged on the spot with the least snow. His suitcase is rested carefully on his back. Around him the green coat flops; it's halfway to the knees length working to keep the snow off Katsuki's inner clothes.

It's not like the cold would bother him, anyways.

The food the vendor gave him rested on his lap, vapor seeping between Katsuki's hands and getting lost in the howling winter winds. Katsuki peers at it for the longest time, sniffing at it delicately.

Wary but curious, he lifts it up and bites into it.

The bun was deliciously crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside in texture -but what really grabbed his attention was the taste. Spice, overflowing in his mouth, burning his tongue with its sharpness.

Strangely enough, his first instinct to recoil does not manifest. Katsuki pauses, mouth full as this mysterious taste invades his mouth. He feels a drop of the sauce inside drip from his lips. Huh.

...it's pepper. Chili?

As soon as he grasp the idea, the names, he chomps down again and takes another bite.

Confusingly, he likes it.

He really, _really _likes it.

Another chomp. The taste is flooring.

He likes it. Almost too much. It makes something inside Katsuki go scaringly soft and pliant, turning him malleable and almost lazy. He leans further back against the suitcase, bringing the food with him. He nibbles it carefully, mindful to file away every sensation that came from the strangely, intensely satisfying meal.

It's odd.

Normally he'd rarely feel such a reaction to something. His memories of _before _are fragile and far in between, but Katsuki remembers enough. Enough to realize that stone should feel rougher under his hands, snow should feel icy cold and heated metal objects should bring a stinging sensation to his skin upon touch.

But they do not.

How ironic. His sense of touch is as mangled as the rest of him.

But this?

This was different.

This was a burst of energy and flavor and other things that left him curious for more. It definitely was….

Quickly, Katsuki snaps his booklets out of his pocket. As he finishes up the bun with one last big bite, he wipes his fingers off on the edge of his coat and reaches for the pen tucked between the pages. Pen in grasp, he flicks the booklets to its last page.

It's a messy page, dirty with grim, charcoal dust and blood from a number fourteen where Katsuki had nicked the carotid artery with his blade and spent the better part of what could have been an extremely productive night cleaning himself and the apartment he raided out.

Despite its sorry state, he tries clearing a bit of space on the page. Ignoring the half scrawled Bakugo Katsuki written at the top, he drags his pen down the tiny list of words. Past _green, student, impatient_ and to the next blank line.

A line where he pauses for a moment, then scrawls _spices?_ in a lopsided scrawl.

Task done, he sets the pen down and slaps the booklet closed with a disinterested flick of his wrist. In his pocket it goes, away from sight or from the snow that could melt the crucial information inside. He'd worked hard for its contents, after all.

Losing interest, Katsuki lifts his head up to look out at the city below. The building he was on was but a four floor building, far from tall enough to give him uninstructed view.

Still, it was an interesting sight. Watching people walk past him below, looking like little ants and ignorant of his presence calmed something within Katsuki. He'd been watched for so long that being on the other end with his targets naive to what was hanging over their heads was...

...soothing.

It gave him a sense of control.

What would be the name of this? People watching?

A harsh burst of wind smacks him in the face, tearing his hood off. Katsuki flares his nostrils at the cold winter wind. Its comfortable against the scars on his cheekbones. They were one of the few parts of his body that had any sensation left, and most often than not they were puffy and irritating.

The loud, angry honking of a car horn drew his attention down. He observes the car in question blast through a red light and disappear around a corner, its driver oblivious to the cussing of the man they nearly ran over.

Well. He couldn't stay here. Katsuki stood up, brushing the snow off his pants and picking up his suitcase. The night, after all, was young and full of opportunity.

Who knew what he might find?

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Are you tired?"

"No," Niwa groans, taking the tea cup from his friend with a muttered thanks. "-the eyebags are just a fashion accessory."

Ishida doesn't respond verbally, sitting down at her own desk next to him. She raises an eyebrow down at him. He can feel the weight of her eyes on his chest.

Specifically, his missing tie. He sighs and huddles the tea cup against his chest, basking in the warmth.

"Don't start." He murmurs bitterly into the tea.

Ishida hums.

"I wasn't."

He hears paper shuffling. Looking up from his cup of matcha, he side eyes the desk across from him where a familiar, pudgy man was shuffling stacks of papers with impressive speed.

Given the man's less than remarkable physical health, Manda was rarely sent out to do on ground work. He was more of an office paper pusher; not that it wasn't a bad thing, seeing how good he was at his job. With his paper-manipulation Quirk and meticulous nature when it came to work, the short, stout, jolly man could essentially juggle four people's worth of paperwork and everyone at the station was eternally grateful for it.

"Shouldn't you be working?"

Niwa points to his tea cup like it held the answer. Which it did, in a way. At least in his opinion.

"Energy break." He croaks, shoulders slumped.

"It's not even seven."

"I woke up at four."

Manda pauses as he's about to lay a sizable pile of files over another. "...oh." The man says as delicately as it could be done given the circumstances. "Dispatch call?"

Niwa gives out a groan and sinks further into his chair. "What else would it be?"

"It wasn't that bad." Ishida

"That's because you weren't there. I had to deal with it myself."

"I was stuck in traffic! Someone decided to make a ice sculpture out of a truck!"

"And I had to deal with a cat-man trying to pick a fight with his neighbor. Who had a mouse Quirk." Niwa hisses out. He takes a break to gulp down a far too hot mouthful of tea. "He threatened to eat the other guy. Multiple times. I'm not sure if he could actually do it or not, but I had to bring him in because of that."

Manda purses his lips. "...is that why you asked me for my hair-removal roller?"

"Cat-man. He was shirtless. Guess where he had fur."

At his side, Ishida shudders. "I'm glad for the traffic."

Niwa gives her a pitiful glare. Traitor. The worst part is that his normally regal and polite companion looked in no way apologetic. Asshole. Then again, he himself was this close to sacrificing her to the nearest shrine for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

"What are you even up to? I haven't seen you go out in weeks." Niwa asks, redirecting the conversation to Manda. "Are you the official desk jockey now or something?"

Manda bites his lower lip as he picks up another file and opens it. "You really want to know?" He asks, eyes flicking down to the document before he tosses it onto the correct pile.

Niwa shifts in his seat, straightening up for a moment only to slouch again because that, apparently, was beyond his strength at the moment.

"Yeah. Well, is it confidential? Then no, I need my job." _I'm considering being a cashier for the better schedule, but with how many stores are getting robbed I'll be lucky if I didn't get shot the first day…._

Manda shrugs. "No, it might hit the news soon though." He mutters low, as to not get overheard.

Niwa freezes. Wait. News?!

At his side, Ishida straightens up and leans forwards. "What do you mean by that?" She whispers furiously, eyes wide.

"You know," Manda tells them lowly, like he was expecting people to listen in. "That case the chief is leading up in the northern district? That warehouse that caught on fire? I heard it's League related."

This time, Niwa nearly loses his grip on his tea cup. Oh, oh fuck. League. There was only one League that could be capitalized.

_Holy fuck in __**their **__town?_

Ishida took his lack of replies and intervened, leading closer to the other officer and whispering: "...Manda, are you serious?"

Manda waves a hand. "T-there's nothing concrete yet, but I've seen the pictures and filed the reports for the on ground officers." He falters, swallowing. "Like, fuck, _jesus_, I didn't get to sleep at all. I won't tell you why. For your sake."

Niwa shudders.

He'd seen videos of the Nomu Attacks and their aftermath. Those nights he hadn't slept a wink, terrified by the prospect that this could happen to him. Their city hadn't been hit yet but statistically, Niwa knew it was just a matter of time before one of those revolting creatures showed up in Tateyama. Given that, he doesn't even want to consider what the police found in that warehouse.

"How do you know this?"

"I go around." Manda shrugged, then quickly replied when Ishida looked less than impressed. "Who do you think is doing the paperwork for that shit?"

"That's why you didn't help me with my report yesterday?"

"Yeah, sorry mate." Manda waves him off. "This is more important. There's even talk to get one of the top Heroes in to look at things. Rumor going around the block is that Eraserhead is gonna get sent in."

Niwa swallows upon hearing the familiar name.

Eraserhead. One of the best underground Pro-Heroes, with the ability to instantly disable a Quirk by looking at his target. The homeroom teacher of Class 1-A of Yuuei, the class of Bakugo Katsuki, that kid that went missing a few months back and everyone was lowkey expecting the body to show up any day now.

Shit, that was...this was...big. Ridiculously big. Something Niwa deep down wanted far away from him.

"Fucking hell." He mutters, fingers twitching. He twists his head to look at his partner and friend in disbelief. "Can you imagine if it was true?"

Ishida let out a soft exhale. "I don't want to. League activity on top of the Ghost Murders? None of us will sleep."

Niwa winces.

Right.

The Ghost Murders.

Fucking nightmare, those were. Three weeks in and no one in the entirety of Tateyama wanted to touch the pile of folders, no matter how many bonuses were waved over their heads. The reason for that?

How downright nightmarish of a case file they were.

Entire apartments cleared of evidence, with only the macabre remains of the victims left behind. Stabbing, blunt force damage to the back of their skulls, torn out throats -the killer had no shortage of creative ways to offing their victims. A lot of the deaths were criminals, but there were more than a few seemingly random hits. The lack of real pattern had everyone stumped.

The only reason they knew it was a serial killer -or a _group _of them- was how clean the apartments were upon being discovered. Carpets soaked in bleach. Doorknobs wiped down. Every section vacuum to perfection. Phones, computers and other devices were missing or damaged beyond any technical skill or Quirk could save.

Nothing was left behind.

Nothing but the corpse.

The eeriest thing about them is how most often that not, there were no defensive wounds on the victims. As if they never saw their killer coming.

Just that thought sent shudders down Niwa's spines.

They were already over capacity with rampant Quirk users. The fact there was mounting evidence of a serial killer hitting at least one person every two days maximum only added to the weight on Niwa's shoulders -the very same weight that he was certain that every one of his coworkers were suffering under.

The violence in the street was rising -just a few days ago two people had been found burned to a crisp in the middle of the goddamn day. Their bodies had yet to be identified; according to the forensic team of the station in charge of that case, some form of accelerant was used on the corpses.

Niwa heard through the grapevine that one of the victims even had their skull partially caved in.

_Fuck, _he thinks as he slumps into his seat, allowing Ishida and Manda to talk over him. _What is this place turning into?_

**.**

**.**

**.**

Tonight was a productive day.

He sets his last report on the accounting shelf, taking note to close and lock the small but heavy metal safe where he stored his money after each transaction. Immediately after he set it on the floor, he pushes it with his foot into a pile of wires and rubbish from his latest project, using it as camouflage from would be thieves that came in looking for cash.

It wouldn't be rare that that happened, but he preferred not taking the risk.

As a rule most knew not to fuck with him not because of his power, but because other people used his services constantly and those were generally villains that would be very miffed if their favourite impartial technician was killed or injured.

Zham muttered an old song from the dingy radio in the corner of his workshop as he bent down and picked up his box of tools, setting it on one of his work tables. While most often than not his Quirk made it easy to work, repair jobs still required materials and tools. Thus, the numerous toolboxes around the shop and the sputtered piles of wires, metal and old plastic around his shop.

His back protested as he moved. Old age was starting to arch up to him; Zham hoped he would have enough by now to happily retire in a few years. He was well aware that the older he got the more dangerous his work became. Most villains were not above ripping off an old man.

And with more and more coming to him, crawling out of the woodwork after Kamino...

...well, this new world was very much a shark eat shark one.

In a way, it reminded of the old tales his grandfather told him when he was a child, still young and curious and oh so oblivious of what the world entailed. When people struggled against the strong and Quirks ran rampant in the streets.

Just as Zham thinks that, he hears the tiny rusty little bell his oldest son had attached to the front door ring. He tenses for a moment, mind going to the pistol and shotgun under his front desk. He could reach his weapons in a matter of seconds, if need be.

But when he peers into the barely lit entrance way, Zham's worries eased when he spotted a familiar green and purple hood shifting in the dark.

His newest regular had arrived.

Zham lets him approach, knowing better than to speak up and spook the client. It's not something he learned, but rather a feeling that told him to let the other come to him, like a cat slowly approaching a person for food.

Except, this cat was a man.

….no.

More so of a child.

It's the small stature that gives it away. The slim body, pointy face and general build. And yet, it didn't look like a child.

Not quite.

Not enough to earn that title.

It felt wrong to call this client an it, but there was something about this individual that set his nerves on edge. Maybe it was the thinness of his body, the pale, almost silver blonde hair and dirty clothes. Truly, it was the skin and hair.

Pale, greyed skin was pulled taut over malnourished muscles and bone. A pair of red eyes stared at him, drilling holes into his head despite how dead and empty they looked. As the thing stepped out of the shadows, revealing itself in all of its glory, the dark circles it sported under its eyes made it look like it had a skull for a face.

Zham feels something akin to unease at the sight.

No. Not the hair, now that he had it in front of him to surveillance in all of its nightmarish glory.

It was the way it _moved _that sent his nerves alight with unease. Slow, calculated, methodical like a snake. The thing did not look around, but the way it tilted its head slightly told Zham it already checked all the corner of the room.

The dead red eyes were locked firmly to his, unnerving in their placid intensity. Zham swallows, choosing his words carefully.

"Same as always?"

Always would be a far stretch, given the fact the thing had only come to him four days ago. Still, it had been here over five times, so he would be considered a regular.

A generous regular, so Zham kept his bloody mouth shut.

Wordlessly, the walking corpse masquerading as a kid reached out and placed a single, slightly cracked phone on the table. The black of the smartphone only served to highlight the pale, slender hand and long nails of their owner. Zham bends forward to examine it, taking note of the damage. A single press and the screen lights up. Good, still usable.

As he gets to work, he pointedly avoids paying attention to the red-brown flakes on the edges and seams of the phone.

Work is work, and he was not going to argue with a monster when he was getting paid generously.

* * *

**In this chapter we are pretty much setting up the first big arc. Get your bets in guys, this is going to be a bumpy ride! Feel free to leave your thoughts and speculations in the comments, I'll be happy to answer em : D **

**This is gonna get spicy fAST**

**Next Chapter:**

**Toga revels on what she has created...and finally, someone catches glimpse of a ghost.**


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